If Time Could Heal
by Kosovaheartland
Summary: The BBC have moved on to their latest Doctor Who project, and a terrible secret Jenna is determined to keep to herself is becoming harder and harder to hide. Matt attempts to get to the bottom of it and help her before it's too late. A Matt/Jenna fic.
1. Chapter 1

**This is an idea that came to me a couple of weeks ago, and since I haven't managed to get it out of my head since I thought I'd have a go at writing it. It's not the first thing I've written but the first I've published and the first time I've ever done anything like this, so your feedback through reviews would be really, really appreciated, so I know there are people out there enjoying this and who want me to write more. And yes it's a Matt and Jenna multichap- I've only come across one other Matt and Jenna fic so far which is We're the Children of the TARDIS by Paradise In Your Eyes, well worth a read if you haven't already seen it. Mine will be very different though, in that mine is about them getting together. As a disclaimer, I am treating the characters in this fic as based on the originals, from the moment this fic begins I am using my own artistic licence as a writer. They are my own OCs throughout this fic, with Doctor Who being the fanfic element as such. I am NOT trying to replicate the real people who inspired the characters in any way, shape or form. I hope you enjoy, and please do leave me a review if you want me to continue, I'll start writing the next chapter when I know people want me to write more.**

**PS. don't worry if this first chapter confuses you, it's meant to set the scene get you guessing (assuming I've done an OK job of it). Next chapter, if you want me to continue, will go back to the beginning and explain what's happened to lead up to the events of this chapter if you see what I mean. Hope you enjoy.**

**Chapter 1**

It's a long, hard battle to refrain herself from shaking as she fumbles with the hairbrush; Jenna has to remind herself that quivering fingers will be of very little use under rather a lot of time pressure. The dull, throbbing pain in her abdomen she is becoming rather used to is far more prominent than it was a few hours ago, causing this struggle to compose herself, to carry on as if nothing is wrong beneath a brave exterior. She might be a good actress, but there are some things no one can truly succeed in hiding.

How much of it is true physical pain, how much is psychological anticipation, how much is nerves and how much is the dull ache which seems to reverberate within her constantly nowadays is difficult to ascertain. Does it really matter- the exact proportions of the source of her discomfort? Perhaps not, though to Jenna it certainly does. Unless it's something seriously close to life threatening then she is determined to stubbornly ignore it until the very end of the evening, until her duty is done and she can give in to the pain alone, no longer needed, able to collapse in a quiet corner with no risk of anyone noticing. Maybe even if it is life threatening; Jenna refuses to believe there can be anything wrong with her that can't wait until tomorrow morning, or even better the morning after that. For now, she has to be focused, push herself to one side. At present, there's no time to be spared for feeling sorry for herself.

Sapphi blinks at her in the mirror, her face a picture of concern. She is sat facing the mirror as Jenna fixes her hair, watching her with an air of curiosity only a child can possibly possess. She frowns, tilting her head to one side, and Jenna knows she's allowed her mask to slip a moment too long.

"What's wrong?" Sapphi asks, her frown becoming more pronounced.

"Nothing," Jenna insists firmly, tilting Sapphi's head straight again, putting down the hairbrush. "Nothing, just thinking."

"About something bad?"

"No, nothing bad," she promises, kicking herself; Sapphi is most likely nervous enough without having her problems added to by this, she can't allow her to notice anything else is wrong. Sapphi isn't stupid; one slip too many and she will see right through Jenna's façade, piece together the various jigsaw elements Jenna knows only too well she has already witnessed, stored within her mind in a murky muddle of confusion, and all of a sudden the complete picture will come together and there will be no going back. Children live in a black and white world, a world of good and evil in which the good always triumphs and the evil is always crushed. Sapphi lives in this black and white world; at least Jenna hopes she does, already she worries she has begun to grow up far too fast. Only adults should understand that the world is not half as simple as it seems through the eyes of a child, that there are some things which no one can fix.

Jenna takes a number of deep breaths in this latest attempt to pull herself together, fingers catching only briefly in the hairband tangled between them in this now rather familiar process, only struggling for a matter of seconds to untangle without ruining what she has already achieved. She tilts Sapphi's head forwards; perhaps a little more forcefully than she would have if only it wasn't for her current state of paranoia and rather more fear than she would like to admit. The pain doesn't affect her, not now, or so she tells herself. She is becoming rather used to the pain. She threads the mesh donut along Sapphi's ponytail and fans her hair out over the top, holding out her hand.

"Elastic, please."

Sapphi obliges, holding out the desired object in between her thumb and index finger, wincing only the slightest little bit as the hair elastic is forced over the top of her bun with a little more ruthlessness than she considers strictly necessary. But she must have gauged a little more as to Jenna's current mood than given credit for, because when asked if it hurts her, Sapphi shakes her head adamantly and reaches for the hair pins instead, perhaps reasoning that if she is prepared and waiting when that next request comes (because it will be hair pins next, both Sapphi and Jenna are perfectly familiar with this process by now) they might not be shoved into her scalp quite so vigorously. She flexes her feet beneath the dressing table to make best use of the time, multitasking, toes pointed and feet flexed, pointed and flexed. Over the past few weeks, Sapphi has learnt rather quickly that any time saved at this stage in proceedings means considerably less stress later on, something which benefits both herself and Jenna. Much to Jenna's amusement, Sapphi is yet to discover a pre-dance warm-up stretch which cannot be performed in hair and make-up.

"Is that going to hold?" is Jenna's next question. Sapphi jumps up from her chair and tries a few pirouettes, testing, turning her head with maximum ferociousness as she spots against the wall ahead. She ends her pirouette sequence and rolls her head a few times, loosening up her neck, runs a small, slight hand around the base of her bun. "Think so."

"Positive?" Jenna without fail feels a great sense of responsibility at this point in proceedings each Saturday and Sunday night for the past 14 odd weekends now give or take, but the additional stress and panic she feels in her heart on this particular evening are contributing greatly to her usual paranoia, and somehow even the small details have become drastically over-inflated in terms of their importance in the present chaos of her mind. In the general scheme of things, what does it matter if Sapphi's hair fails to hold its perfect bun for the entirety of her performance? Life will go on, Sapphi will keep dancing (because that's the one thing Jenna has drilled into her above all else: no matter what happens, she is to keep dancing and deal with whatever else is demanding her attention later), maybe even the fact that Sapphi keeps dancing no matter what will do her a favour when it's all over and done with and the votes come flooding in. The upshot is, sending Sapphi onto stage less than perfectly presented on one solitary occasion isn't going to signify a complete and utter disaster, and Jenna knows that really.

Not in the real world, at least. To Jenna, whose lifeline required in order to drag her through the last few months (because let's face it, even including the presence of Sapphi for much of it they have been on the whole crap by anyone's standards) has been a desperate, somewhat unhealthy obsession with striving for perfection, the world might just end.

There's so much that's so completely and totally out of her control, that's the realisation months of living hell have caused Jenna to come to. There's so much she cannot control, so much that will quite effortlessly slip through her fingers were she even to attempt to influence it herself. There are people and actions she cannot control, people who will insist on committing acts in relation to her regardless of her pleas, her cries, her obvious distress. That lack of control, when it occurs (and quite frequently in the aftermath, and anticipation, as is the case at present) makes her feel hopeless and out of control, as if nothing in the world will ever be right ever again and there's no escaping the pain and hurt she feels. But there are some things in her life which she can control, and holding authority over these, no matter how small, eases the pain of the helplessness, just a little. Even if the perfection she seeks in these areas hurts her, at times, just as much as those acts against her she cannot influence, no matter how hard she tries.

Sapphi is running through her tap routine, feet brushing delicately against the floor as she moves gracefully across it, feather-light brushings against the wooden dressing room floor producing crisp, clear taps, art in motion. Jenna perhaps knows this particular pattern of steps better than Sapphi, the performer; she has long since come to the conclusion that watching Sapphi on stage is far more stressful than being there herself. When she sends Sapphi out onto that vast, wide stage all alone, be it to act or to dance, Jenna without fail succeeds in finding something new to worry about; Sapphi freezing and forgetting her lines or her routine, Sapphi stopping for just a moment too long to contemplate the vast number of people watching her (such is the nature of reality television) and psyching herself out, Sapphi slipping off the edge of the stage and down the long drop into the crowd... And so her list continues.

It's different when it's her. Most of the time, when Jenna steps out in front of a camera and a film crew she has Matt by her side. There's something immensely reassuring about the presence of someone familiar beside her, particularly at present with her confidence far closer to rock bottom than she would ever admit. Or maybe that's just Matt. He has an ability to calm her when no one else can; to the extent that Jenna has a nasty suspicion she would have suffered a melt-down of some shape of form weeks ago if it wasn't for him. She doubts he is even aware of this particular talent. She takes great pains to ensure that no one suspects she's falling slowly but surely to pieces, and would like to think she does rather a good job of it. Which means it must be a natural talent of Matt's; he must have an ability to comfort her without even trying, without even realising his calming presence is so very much needed. Most of the time, bizarrely, he seems to succeed in making her feel better through his default tactic of attempting to wind her up using a variety of different methods- how on earth does that make even the slightest bit of sense? And yet he does. Jenna doesn't know how she could possibly have survived the hell of the last few months without Matt, she really doesn't.

"Sapphi? Sapphi, are you ready?" There's no time left to be absorbed in her own thoughts. Right now, Jenna has to focus on making sure Sapphi is warmed up, ensuring she is focused, depositing her backstage within plenty of time, tap shoes at the ready. This could be the last time Sapphi is put through this procedure, and Jenna is a great believer in going out on a high note. Not that she believes Sapphi is going to be going out on a high note tonight, of course. In her opinion, Sapphi is all kinds of fabulous and absolutely has this whole thing sorted, though she's well aware of her being just the slightest bit biased.

"Uhm hmm," Sapphi nods, picking up her tap shoes from the corner of the dressing table and clicking one against the other with her hands. "Shoes, no music."

"Shoes, no music," Jenna nods, running through one final mental checklist. "You've got this, Sapphi, you know what you're doing. All you have to do is do it like you did for me earlier, and I'll be proud of you no matter what, OK? You'll be brilliant, I know you will."

Sapphi bites her lip. "And if I forget it, you'll tell me what I'm meant to be doing?"

"You're not going to forget what you're doing Sapphi, I promise. How many hours have we spent on it now? I haven't given up hours of my life drilling it into you for you to freeze now," she teases, letting out a soft sigh of relief when Sapphi smiles. "Come on. I've just got time to walk you down."

Jenna deposits Sapphi backstage and heads back down to the dressing room. Her latest time check informs her that she has limited time before she is going to be missed on stage herself; she needs to get a move on, in other words. She pauses just for a moment in front of the mirror, rearranging her hair, slipping her shoes back on (because hurrying Sapphi down the backstage corridors to wings of the main stage in heels is almost as noisy as allowing Sapphi to make the run in tap shoes, she has discovered). The pain in her abdomen, and her ribs, come to that, is only intensifying, so she rummages in her handbag, locating a pack of neurofen and swallowing down two quickly, not bothering with water. Whether or not neurofen is going to be enough to numb the pain and see her through the next few hours in front of multiple cameras is certainly debatable, but Jenna hasn't got the time to stop and consider the fact that medicine and science are sadly against her. Neurofen is going to have to be enough, because there simply isn't another option.

One last check in the mirror and Jenna turns to head out of the door, mask of confidence and general togetherness reapplied. But she barely makes it five paces along the corridor before a rough pair of hands have grabbed her around the waist from behind, shoving her face first into the wall. Immediately she tenses, muscles clenching, knowing full well what's coming next and already just a little afraid.

"No," she whispers. "Not now, please. Sapphi, she's… I need to go…"

She does manage to get away sooner than she had feared, though still later than she should have been. She's missed the beginning of the performance before Sapphi's, has to slip in as discretely as possible, sliding into her seat between Matt and Billie and doing her best to pretend to all watching she has been there the entire time. She can feel a dirty look coming her way from her right but she ignores it, focusing straight ahead, sitting as upright in her seat as the sharp throbbing in her chest will allow her. Holding herself together isn't just a need; it's an absolute necessity, at least until the end of Sapphi's performance. Perhaps if she just can't cope with the pain any longer after Sapphi has finished she can come up with something in the way of an excuse and make her escape, but not before. She promised Sapphi she would be right there to tell her what to do in the event of her mind going temporarily blank, and be there she will, no matter what.

But by the time Sapphi's performance begins, the pain is proving far worse than anything Jenna could possibly have anticipated. She only vaguely remembers Sapphi entering the stage (stage left, wasn't it? She can't quite remember), the events beforehand a blurred mess of movement and sound, nothing more. She's struggling to focus on anything else the pain is so agonising, rapidly losing the battle to remain conscious. And yet still Jenna somehow manages to muster the energy to kick off her shoes and copy Sapphi's routine with her own feet under the table, knowing each step and the following so inside and out by now that her blurring vision isn't a problem. There's no music, but as long as she can hear the taps she knows where Sapphi is, knows how much more there is left to go until she's nailed the entire performance and the both of them can relax.

The tapping sounds disappear for a couple of beats and Jenna holds her breath; toe stand pirouettes, Sapphi must be on the toe stand pirouettes. If Sapphi's going to crash out and freeze at all then she's going to do it during the toe stand pirouettes, once she's past those it's a clear run home. Perhaps all Jenna needs to do is keep herself awake for a few more seconds…?

She's now aware of the presence of a hand on her shoulder originating from her left… Matt, Jenna's brain tells her after considerable delay, it must be Matt. She can feel herself slumping over, struggling to hold herself upright and open her lungs… is she really doing that bad a job of it that she's allowed him to notice? Sapphi has finished the toe stand pirouette sequence now, Jenna can tell from the change in rhythm. She wants to make it through until the end of Sapphi's performance, she truly does, but the pain is now so intense that Jenna doesn't think she can bear it any longer. She must have already begun to exhibit signs of giving in to the darkness threatening to consume her, because the arms which must be Matt's are around her shoulders before she's even aware she's swaying, just before her vision goes completely. She gives up on her façade, unable to hold herself together any longer, letting out a soft cry of agony as she falls to her right, away from Matt. Her stomach turns alarmingly as he pulls her torso back and if only her arms didn't feel quite so much as if they are made of lead. As it is Jenna wonders if perhaps her hand makes it almost halfway there, but everything thereafter is a blur and her world is plunged into darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Firstly, I just want to say thank you so, so much all you wonderful people who took the time to review, you guys are all kinds of fabulous. It honestly means the world to know you're enjoying this, so thank you so much. Please keep them coming, the more of you guys I know what the next chapter the faster I'll upload. **

**This chapter is for velvetpru'd. Thanks for your review and happy birthday, hope you have a great day.**

**PS. Just to clarify I've had a minor change of plan: this chapter and the next are going to follow on from the previous one, and chapter 4 will jump back to the beginning. I will still be going back and explaining everything, I promise! I've just had a slight reshuffle of the order of the chapters I have planned. But hopefully there will be various hints scattered through this chapter and the next before the jump.**

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**Chapter 2**

Matt doesn't notice there's anything the matter at first; a truth which will cause him to experience a formidable sense of guilt later on. But until it's too late, he simply fails to notice there's anything wrong. Jenna reappears a little later than expected, admittedly, but that isn't unusual. Matt simply assumes that preparing Sapphi for her performance has taken slightly longer than anticipated; it wouldn't be the first time. And when Jenna does appear, she gives off at least an impression of nothing being wrong (although it's unlikely he got a proper look at her in the dark, improbable that he gave her much of his attention when she slipped into her seat, given a performance was still underway and he didn't want to detract the audiences' attention from the stage). He barely spared her a glance when she slipped into the seat beside him, though at the same time there was nothing obvious in her actions, her posture to indicate something being wrong, to set alarm bells ringing.

He had assumed she was perfectly aware she was late and would want to slip in as quickly and quietly as possible, and so he allowed her to do so. He couldn't possibly have anticipated what was to come.

His eyes are fixed firmly ahead until something in the corner of his eye distracts him momentarily. Matt isn't quite sure what it is that catches his attention initially, and when he thinks back on it later trying to pinpoint exactly what it was, the various elements of the evening's saga have all merged together in such a fashion that they are difficult to separate, to ascertain exactly what triggered the rapid turn of events.

All Matt will be able to recall later is that towards the end of Sapphi's tap routine, something caused him to turn towards Jenna, sat to his right. And that almost immediately, it is perfectly obvious that something is horribly wrong.

She's slouched over, still holding herself upright more or less though clearly not quite herself, that much is obvious. Her forearms are resting on the long table in front of them both though despite clearly being in pain, feeling lightheaded, whatever is wrong, she doesn't appear to be relying upon it for support, chest caved in, breathing restricted she's so hunched over; whatever the matter is, that surely can't be helping.

But what to do about it? That question leaves Matt in something of a dilemma. He's well aware that no matter what's wrong, Jenna won't want him attracting any unwanted attention. She's far shyer than she can come across initially. He settles for reaching out his hand and squeezing her shoulder gently, hoping to get Jenna's attention just for long enough for her to silently reassure him that she's fine.

If she is even aware of Matt's hand on her shoulder, Jenna certainly doesn't acknowledge it. If anything she appears to be in a worse state than he initially thought, swaying slightly, and when Matt leans forward slightly, straining a little in the dark to study her face, he finds the colour gone from her cheeks, eyes hazed over, glassy. She's staring straight ahead, watching Sapphi on the stage, and yet her vision appears far from focused.

He's still considering his next move when Jenna begins to sway far more violently, torso lurching away from him to their right, eyes closing. Any thoughts of how much fuss she would or wouldn't be comfortable with him making are immediately cast to one side and Matt lunges after her, arms catching her around her shoulders and clinging onto her tightly, attempting to pull her back up into a sitting position. Jenna moans a little, letting out a soft, pained cry of distress, though still eerily limp in his arms. As he pulls her back upright she retches, coughing half-heartedly but still showing no signs of awareness, and suddenly Matt is rather afraid. She was fine; she was absolutely fine just a few minutes ago.

Wasn't she?

It quickly becomes obvious that Jenna isn't going to come round as quickly as Matt had hoped; a part of him had still been considering the possibility that she's merely suffering a brief spell of light-headedness, that his pulling her upright once more will be enough to snap her out of it.

But still she fails to show any signs of coming round, unnervingly limp and still, breathing just about still there but shallower than normal, relaxed, too relaxed. That's the point at which Matt realises she simply isn't going to just snap out of it, that no amount of waiting and giving her the chance can possibly change that terrifying truth. Something far greater and more complicated than a minor dizzy spell is wrong and Matt hasn't the faintest idea what it could be.

He gathers Jenna into his arms frantically and shifts her until she's positioned on his lap, one arm wrapped around her back in order to support her, free hand brushing her hair away from her face, then reaching for a tissue to wipe her mouth, slapping her cheek lightly when all this jostling of her still fails to provoke a response.

"Jenna?" Matt's voice is laced with a little more urgency than he would like as he calls her name, shaking her slightly, becoming increasingly desperate for her to show something in the way of signs of returning to consciousness. "Jenna, can you hear me? Jenna?" He's aware that people within close proximity have begun to notice, conscious of Billie and David watching her from the other end of the table, though he doesn't waste time turning to acknowledge them. All his efforts are focused on Jenna; the trouble is he just doesn't know how best to channel them.

He's got to get her out of here, Matt realises at last. She's been out for far too long now to make a quick recovery, he's got to get her out of here before she has to come round to live broadcasting cameras being shoved ruthlessly in her face. He looks up briefly, taking his eyes of the woman in his arms for no more than a couple of seconds. Sapphi is still dancing, blissfully unaware of the commotion occurring in the darkness in front of the stage. Which is good, of course, in more ways than one; the cameras will still be focused on Sapphi, Matt realises with something of a sense of relief. With any luck, if he's quick, he will be able to sneak out of the audience and backstage with Jenna before she finishes, hopefully without catching the attention of too many members of the audience, or, more importantly, of the cameras.

Matt isn't entirely convinced he trusts the live broadcasting cameras to show something in the way of respect and consideration in a moment of crisis like this.

Slowly, slightly shakily, Matt stands up, moving his previously free arm to snake under Jenna's legs and lifting her up gently. She rolls away from him at first, horribly limp and lifeless; he has to tilt her back into his chest in order to grip her tightly. She's lighter than he expected, he realises. She doesn't feel _right_ somehow; she feels too frail, her hip bone jutting out into his side as he cradles her, the bony discs of her spine pressing into his upper arm, wrapped around her back. She feels fragile, easily breakable, a slight, perfectly formed china doll.

A perfectly formed china doll who feels far slighter than the last time he held her like this, during the filming of the second part of series 7.

Matt's grand plan only requires Sapphi's performance to last for another few seconds; that, he is almost certain, will be long enough for him to dash off into the wings and disappear into the darkness, for him and Jenna to escape backstage away from prying eyes and cameras. Just a few more seconds, that's all he needs. It will make life difficult for everyone else having to cover for his and Jenna's absence, though that isn't exactly his primary concern. All he can focus on at this particular moment in time is getting out of here as swiftly as possible; he'll leave the wreckage to be cleared by everyone else.

He begins his mad dash along the bottom of the stage, right in front of the audience and cameras- the only escape route. There's no other way of getting backstage quickly without having to open the fire exits in what would be a far more distractive move; Matt can only hope that there's enough of Sapphi's performance left to keep the cameras and the audience distracted until he and Jenna are safely out of sight, as is his plan. At which point, he makes his crucial mistake.

He's not entirely sure what makes him do it. A few seconds, that was what he had calculated, just a few seconds of running and the both of them would be safely out of sight. Any sensible person would realise that the best plan of action would be to push all thoughts aside and just run, block everything out, no matter what else was going on around them.

But stupidly, ridiculously stupidly, Matt allows himself to pause, to stop in his tracks for just a second, to check that Sapphi is still dancing, that she isn't about to stop any time soon. She's mid pirouette as he looks over to her, facing away from him, a split second away from turning back around to face him.

Which is going to present something of a problem, Matt realises a fraction of a second too late, because when Sapphi rotates back round to facing forwards again (he's not entirely sure of the proper terminology) he is going to be standing directly in her eye line, Jenna quite clearly unconscious in his arms. And of course Jenna's spent the whole bloody week trying to teach her the importance of making eye contact with an audience.

If only he had moved first and stopped to worry later, perhaps his worst fears might not have been realised. But by the time this series of thoughts have run through Matt's mind, a matter of split seconds' delay, Sapphi's head is turned back to facing forward and she looks directly at him, their eyes locking for a few brief moments.

Sapphi is a good actress, both for someone her age and in simply in general, Matt knows that of course. She wouldn't still be here if she wasn't a brilliant actress. And not only is she a brilliant actress but she also has Jenna on her side, drilling into her for weeks now that the show must go on, that no matter what happens to put you off, it's essential when you're a live performer that you push it out of your mind, that you continue to play your part as though nothing has happened until your job is done, and only then do you allow your own emotions to overcome you. Sapphi, being Sapphi, has taken it to heart, getting better and better at pulling it off each week she's attempted it. By now, she's practically a professional.

But even Sapphi cannot hide the look of pure panic and horror in her eyes when she and Matt's gazes make contact. Her face, to her credit, shows no signs of distress, but the look in her eyes… He can't quite come up with a word suitable to describe it. Perhaps it's all the more traumatic to Matt, knowing the other emotionally traumatic experiences Sapphi has worryingly failed to show even the slightest signs of distress at these past few months. Or perhaps the look in her eyes in that split second is simply so raw, the epitome of primeval human instincts which not even the best of actors can quite recreate with complete accuracy, that it's impossible not to feel just a little shaken.

He's rooted to the spot. He should move, Matt knows he really, really should move, but somehow he can't. Something within him wants to wait just for a moment, to watch Sapphi's next move because now Matt is mentally kicking himself, worried he's put her off when he could have simply slipped away without her noticing and avoided putting her off and now when Jenna comes round (because she will come round, of course she will) she will never forgive him.

On a positive note, Sapphi doesn't fall out of her pirouette. In fact, Matt decides, Jenna would most likely be hugely proud of her, because she improvises. Either what she's just witnessed and Jenna's current inability to subtly hint at the next piece of her choreography from the front row have caused her to forget what she's meant to be doing next, or she's decided that she can't wait until the end of the choreography to fall to pieces, but whatever the reason she improvises, dropping her right foot and lifting her arms to coupé (maybe he's taken in more of the dance terminology stuff than he thought), spinning twice more and landing with a definite sense of finality; the advantage to going a cappella.

She holds her finishing position for no more than a second, and then all of a sudden she's running towards the edge of the stage, her expression now as panicked as that terrible, fearful look in her eyes. And then Freema appears from nowhere and with remarkable speed manages to catch Sapphi in her arms and Sapphi flails and kicks like a trapped animal in response, sobbing, terrified and expressing her fear in the only way a child knows how. And somebody shouts to the camera crew to turn the bloody cameras off and it's only then that Matt realises the damn things are most likely pointing right at them, that stupidly he's managed to position Jenna directly in the line of fire of the camera lenses, still running live. At which point he finally seems to regain control of his legs and a moment later he's running for cover, murmuring an apology to Jenna he knows full well she can't hear as he jostles her in the process.

He makes it backstage at last and breathes a sigh of relief, then looks back down at Jenna, still lifeless in his arms and that initial feeling of relief fades rather rapidly. With no particular destination in mind Matt half walks, half runs along the backstage corridor, far too worried to even contemplate thinking clearly.

The longer Jenna remains motionless and unresponsive the more he doubts he's really the best person to be with her right now; he attempts to concentrate, struggling to remember if her mum and dad are in the audience this evening (he knows she's been giving Sapphi's share of the tickets to her own family and friends because it's not as if Sapphi's are going to bother showing up). Maybe not her mum and dad… he can't remember… Oscar, her boyfriend, maybe? It's no use, Matt can't remember; he curses himself for not paying more attention to her earlier.

Matt ends up taking her through to his dressing room; most likely acting more on autopilot than anything else. Arms full, he uses his left foot to kick his jacket off the sofa in the corner, gently lowering Jenna to lie her down. She lets out a faint, high pitched whimper, distressed animal-like, as he sets her down, but still Jenna's eyes remain closed, her limbs still limp and flopping sideways as he attempts to put her down, tangling in his arms.

Gently, carefully, he untangles himself, pulling her over into a recovery position, the soft tickling of her shallow breaths on his arm wonderfully reassuring. At least she's still breathing; god knows what's wrong with her to render her in such a state, but at least she's still breathing. Thankfully, she seems stable enough for him to leave her for a couple of minutes in order to go and get help.

It's only as he pulls away from her that Matt notices the dark crimson stain rapidly soaking through the pale grey silk of her dress at her abdomen, only when he looks back up at Jenna's face for the first time properly in decent lighting that he realises just how unnaturally pale she is.

"Shit," he breathes. "Oh shit."

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**How was it? Reviews would make my day, so please do let me know :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry it's taken slightly longer to get this chapter up, but it is a good 1500 words longer than the other 2 have been, so it took me slightly longer to get it written the way I wanted it. This chapter follows on from chapter 2, and the next chapter will jump back in time and explain everything that's happened to lead up to this point, if that makes sense.**

**Thank you so, so much all you wonderful people who left me reviews, I honestly can't tell you how much I appreciate it, please do keep them coming. I was so nervous about publishing this, so it means the world to know there are people still enjoying this after 2 chapters. To answer your questions- AMysteriousWoman711- Sapphi is a character I have created for this story, characters you recognise are based on the originals, characters you don't I have created for this fic. Sapphi's role will be explained later to everyone wondering, I'm trying to pull a Moffat on you and confuse you a little at the moment ;) All will be revealed in the next couple of chapters. NikkiPond- I hadn't thought about whether Matt is bald in this part of the story to be perfectly honest with you- it depends on whether you guys prefer him bald or not I guess :) In the next chapter it will be more obvious where it's placed in time and whether or not he's bald!**

**Thank you so much again to everyone reading and especially all of you reviewing, you guys are seriously wonderful. Please do leave a review, even if it's a short one, it won't take long :) And I'll get the next chapter up as soon as I can if you guys want it.**

**Chapter 3**

Matt simply stares at her for a few moments, struggling to piece together how exactly this has happened- no, _what_ exactly has happened, because the physical facts before him just aren't making any sense. He can _see_ the bloodstain seeping alarmingly through Jenna's dress, he can _see _it, and yet try as he might he just can't make sense of how this situation has arisen.

She was fine… not ten minutes ago when she first sat down next to him back in the studio, she was fine, she was absolutely fine. How could she have given off the impression of being absolutely fine while bleeding that badly? Could she really have made it along the walkway at the front of the stage and into her seat beside him so calmly in just a slightly earlier stage of the state she's in now, would she really have been stupid enough to have knowingly trapped herself in a live broadcasting studio losing blood at such a rate?

Surely not, and yet no other explanation seems to make any sense… unless Jenna hadn't been bleeding at all when she first sat down next to him? Or she had, but she simply hadn't noticed? She must have noticed, surely, if the pain is bad enough to render her unconscious less than ten minutes later surely she must have been aware she was bleeding?

It doesn't make sense; it just doesn't make any sense. Half a dozen potential explanations are now swimming through Matt's head and yet none of them completely fit, none of them can explain away each and every detail of the way in which things have panned out now. It just doesn't make sense, nothing makes sense.

He needs to snap out of it, Matt realises at last. He needs to snap out of it and _do something_, because simply standing and staring, motionless with horror, isn't going to help anyone, least of all Jenna, and the simple truth of the matter is this: right now, she is the most important thing. As far as Matt is concerned, until he is absolutely certain that she's alright, that she's going to be alright, at least, Jenna is the only thing that matters.

Which means he desperately needs to snap out of whatever ridiculous, horror-struck trance that has overcome him and do something, anything, to make her better.

Because looking at her now, pale, still, and, worryingly, far colder than she was just a few minutes ago, is simply too much to bear.

Without a moments' further hesitation Matt springs into action, grabbing his discarded jacket from the floor and pressing it firmly against Jenna's midsection with one hand, the other grasping at her wrist as he searches for her pulse. It's faint. Frantically, he allows her wrist to drop and presses his fingers to her neck just below her chin, somewhat relieved when he finds her pulse, still weak yet stronger than at her wrist. She must just have low blood pressure, Matt tells himself, that's all it is. She has a pulse; as long as she has a pulse, she's fine. Of course she's fine.

Reassuringly, the blood- Jenna's blood, how is that so completely terrifying even to think?- is failing to soak completely through his jacket as he had feared, though it's been less than a minute, Matt is only too aware of that. It's been less than a minute and Jenna is still motionless, her eyes closed, body limp. Matt had hoped that his applying pressure would have triggered something of a reaction in her; his grand plan up until this point had been dependent on her regaining consciousness by now, being alert enough for him to leave her for a minute, no longer, just enough time for him to sprint along the corridor and find someone from the backstage crew to come and help… someone must have a first aid kit and some level of training, surely? But he can't leave Jenna whilst she's still unconscious, can't risk taking the pressure off her abdomen without even knowing what the cause of it is.

And so he does the only thing left he can think of.

"Help!" Matt bellows down the corridor, praying that someone will hear him. "I need a first aid kit in here now!"

If nothing else, his helpless shouting for assistance seems to have begun to pull Jenna back into the realms of consciousness; she winces, features tensing, eyes scrunching shut as though resisting her regaining awareness, fighting to sink back into the murky depths of unconsciousness. Her head rolls to the side and her back arches slightly, dropping back down abruptly as she lets out a sharp little gasp and falls silent, breathing laboured, eyes still closed. She looks pained, helpless, vulnerable, and yet at the same time curiously endearing; so endearing that he's overcome with a desire to scoop her into his arms and cuddle her tightly and whisper into her hair that she's going to be just fine and he's never going to allow anyone or anything to hurt her ever again.

But that wouldn't be appropriate, of course, not when she has a boyfriend, Oscar. And so Matt settles for taking her hand and squeezing it tightly, gently massaging her knuckles one handed, his other still pressing down on her abdomen.

"Jenna?" he says softly, squeezing her hand a little tighter. "Come on, can you wake up for me? Jenna? It's alright, you're going to be alright, I promise," he insists, turning away from her just for a moment to look out of the dressing room door and into the corridor outside.

There's no one coming, there's still no one coming…

"Help!" He screeches again, panicking now that there's no one to hear, that no one's coming and somehow he's going to have to deal with this all by himself. "Help, someone!"

Jenna moans, almost irritated, as though trying to tell him to stop, that she's in enough pain without her eardrums being attacked quite so violently, and suddenly Matt feels rather guilty.

"I know, I know," he murmurs, stroking her hair. "I know." Suddenly his attempts to wake her up seem rather cruel and heartless; all at once Matt is aware that he's being selfish, that he's battling to pull her back into a reality which, right now for her, is filled with pain and discomfort. How is that fair?

"Will someone come and help her?" Matt screams, beginning to lose his patience now, because the more awareness Jenna appears to gain the more he gets the impression that she's struggling already to tolerate just the level of pain she's already conscious of, and it's only going to get a hell of a lot worse. He wraps his free arm around her shoulders and hugs her tightly, only hoping that if she's aware enough to know she's in pain, she's also aware of his arms around her, at least knows that she's not alone, that someone is with her even if she hasn't regained enough awareness to know who.

And then there's a sudden flurry of activity from the corridor, hurried footsteps, and Sarah from the backstage crew is peering around the doorway, face slightly startled as she takes in the scene before her.

"What's happened?" she asks once she has recomposed herself, the shock in her voice offering Matt very little in the way of reassurance.

"I don't know, I don't know!" Matt admits helplessly; having to attempt to explain how the present situation has occurred is achieving nothing but intensifying his fear. "She collapsed in the studio… I got her out… she's bleeding but I don't know what happened, I don't know…"

"Bleeding badly?"

"I don't know!" Matt snaps angrily, not realising how aggressive and irrational he sounds until it's too late and the words have already left his mouth. "Sorry, I shouldn't have…" He trails off, ceasing to apply pressure to Jenna's abdomen and lifting his jacket away, nervously, unable to look down and assess how bad the bleeding is for himself.

"OK… OK. And she hasn't come round yet?"

"No." His response is choked, his voice sounding rather unlike his own. He can't bear it much longer, he can't, he just can't. "No she's… I keep thinking she might be and then she just goes all still again…"

"But she's got a pulse, right?" Sarah asks urgently.

Frantically, he nods, free arm draping over Jenna protectively once more as though hoping that perhaps, if he holds her tightly enough, he will be able to shield her from it all, from everything. "She's got a pulse, but she's cold, I don't…"

Those final words seem to startle Sarah into action. "OK, listen, Matt, she's going to be alright, don't panic," she insists, though how she can possibly expect him not to not panic is a complete and utter mystery to Matt. "I'm going to get a first aid kit; I'll be two minutes, tops, alright? Just keep doing what you're doing, keep applying pressure, keep talking to her, can you do that?"

Sarah only waits long enough to see him nod in response before she's running back along the corridor, her footsteps fading away until Matt feels utterly alone once more, another fresh wave of panic setting in. It's not just him, it's not just him that's worried, he managed to gage that much from Sarah's reaction. She was trying to keep him calm, he knows that, but she couldn't hide the look of panic and confusion on her face. He doesn't understand how this could have happened, he doesn't understand, it just doesn't make any sense how Jenna could have appeared fine right up until moments before she collapsed, it just doesn't make sense…

"Come on, Jenna, please?" Matt pleads with her, knowing full well she's completely oblivious to his presence yet willing to try anything all the same; he's reached the peak of desperation now at which he would be prepared to try almost anything if there was even the faintest hope of it making a difference. "I just want to know you're alright, please? Or if you're not, you can scream at me to stop and leave you alone if you like, I don't mind, I just want to know you're alright. I need to know you're alright, Jenna, please? You're scaring me now," he confesses, holding her hand tighter still, willing her to bat him off and complain he's hurting her if that's all she can manage. "I know it hurts, I know," he sighs, stroking her hair in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. "If there's anything I can do to make it better I will, you just have to tell me, OK? I promise."

But still nothing. He may as well have been talking to himself, all the good this is doing, Matt sighs bitterly. It's useless, totally useless; nothing he tries seems to be making the slightest bit of a difference.

"Matt, I'm going to need you to move," Sarah announces from behind him, and Matt jumps, momentarily startled; he'd been so preoccupied that he hadn't noticed her re-enter the room behind him. He obliges, moving to the side allowing her room, still grasping Jenna's hand tightly in his own, unable to let go. Right now, her cold hand in his is the little reassurance he has that she's still hanging on, that she's not in any immediate danger, at least.

He stares at that hand, refusing to allow his gaze to fall anywhere else for the moment. He's never had an issue with blood in the past, far from it, but somehow this is different. Knowing it's Jenna's blood and not knowing what's wrong with her, what's caused the bleeding, is more than a little terrifying.

"Right, I'm going to need you to help me," Sarah declares. Mercifully, she sounds a little calmer than when she first was dragged into this mess, though not enough so to put Matt at ease. "We need to get her out of this dress; I need you to hold her upright for me."

"What?" Matt's eyes are suddenly far wider than they were just a few moments previously; no doubt his cheeks are turning a vivid shade of crimson in response to Sarah's instruction. "I mean… it's not really appropriate…"

"Oh for god's sake, now really isn't the time for this," Sarah snaps, her tone a mixture of worry and irritation. "I need to work out what's causing the bleeding, I can't do that without getting her dress off, and you're the only person I've got to help. You're just going to have to get over yourself and do it, there's no other option."

The sharpness of her tone is enough to shock Matt into action, all thoughts of his own embarrassment pushed firmly to one side. Sarah is right, of course, there really isn't another option, and it's not as if Jenna's going to be able to recall this later and throttle him for agreeing to witness her in her underwear.

And so he leans over to grasp hold of her and raise her slowly into a sitting position, staring straight ahead at the whitewashed wall in front of him and refusing to allow his eyes to wander anywhere else. Her head flops to rest on his shoulder but still he stares ruthlessly at the wall, not even permitting himself to look at her as he slides her hands down her back, allowing Sarah to lift her dress off over her head. He refuses to allow himself to stop and ponder for even a split second upon the fact that his hands are against her bare skin, simply concentrates on holding her upright instead, conscious that if he loosens his grip for even a second there's nothing to stop her falling backwards, hard.

Not to mention that if he did allow his mind to go there, Matt knows he would be forced to give some thought to the fact that her ribs feel worryingly prominent. And that's not something he wants to have to think about, not on top of everything else.

He waits until Sarah is finished and then lowers Jenna back down gently, eyes fixed firmly on her face. The moment he's set her down he untangles his arms, crosses the room and grabs his coat from the back of the door, draping it over her legs in a bid to protect her dignity.

Only then, when there are no more excuses left, does Matt finally manage to bring himself to look down at her injuries.

It's slightly surreal. He's had roles in the past which have involved horrific injuries, elaborate, highly realistic make up jobs which have looked almost identical to what he's faced with now; he's never had an issue dealing with those.

But this is different. It's different because he knows it's real, because no amount of trying to convince himself that it isn't, that it's just another part and Jenna's doing a rather brilliant job of staying perfectly, unnervingly still, can possibly work.

She's worryingly thin, for a start, worryingly, painfully thin, as though she's been ill and anything in the way of a proper eating routine has gone hopelessly out of the window. That's when the first wave of guilt hits. He should have noticed, Matt tells himself angrily, he should have noticed something was wrong with her. God only knows what's happened this evening, let alone _how_ it's happened, though it's fairly safe to conclude, Matt reasons, that it only happened this evening, a few minutes before Jenna appeared beside him in the studio, would be his guess. But this… he should have noticed this, he really, really should have. The amount of time he spends with her, he most definitely should have noticed she wasn't eating properly- has she not been eating properly? He doesn't know. He guesses so; it's the only explanation, but he doesn't know, he hasn't been paying enough attention to know. Some friend he's been to her of late.

There's so much blood smeared across her stomach that it's difficult to ascertain exactly where it's coming from; he doesn't _want_ to ascertain where it's coming from, he wants this all to be a terrible dream he's going to awake from any moment, nothing more. Matt turns away, letting go of Jenna's hand, ashamed that he can't bring himself to look. She needs him, he knows that, but he's being so squeamish about it all that the sight of her blood is making him feel horribly lightheaded.

He's being pathetic, completely pathetic, and he knows it only too well.

"Matt?" He can't quite gage from Sarah's voice whether she the news she has to break to him is good or bad. "Matt, she's alright; it's not as bad as it looks. It's not deep, I think the bleeding's more or less stopped."

"So she's alright?" Matt asks, still facing away, almost unable to force himself to turn back towards her. He had prepared himself for the worst, half convinced himself that there was something horribly wrong with her that would land her in an operating theatre within an hour.

"Honestly, it's not as bad as it looks," Sarah promises. "She'll need to be properly checked out, but I think she's going to be OK."

"But she's still not waking up, is she?" Matt points out, beginning to despair. "How can she be OK when she's not waking up?"

"It's not a deep wound though, Matt, she's alright," Sarah insists gently. "It's probably a combination of things, she might be a bit anaemic, it could be shock… she hasn't been out as long as you think."

Only then does Matt allow himself to turn back to her, nervous, shaking a little himself. She's still pale, worryingly so, though some faint traces of colour are beginning to return to her cheeks. He feels guilty all over again for letting go of her hand and turning away from her, putting his own selfish needs before her own just when she needs him most. He takes her hand in his own once again and kisses her knuckles, relieved to find she no longer feels as horribly cold as she did just a few minutes ago.

"I'm sorry," he whispers with feeling, partly apologising for his own falling to pieces, partly for allowing this to happen in the first place. "I'm sorry, I really am. I'm never letting anyone hurt you again, I promise."

"Matt," Sarah says gently, tossing a handful of discarded, now crimson wet wipes in the general direction of the bin and missing by a good half a metre. "We don't know what happened, we can't rule out the possibility that she did this…"

"No," Matt says firmly, shaking his head. "No, she wouldn't. I know she wouldn't."

"Matt, I know it's hard, but you might have to accept…"

He shakes his head violently, refusing to believe it. "No, she wouldn't, of course she wouldn't, why would…?" And then he stops. He's finally managed to muster the courage to look down at her injuries; there's still so much blood smeared across her stomach that it's difficult to tell exactly where it came from. But Sarah has managed to remove enough of it from further up her torso to render the purple, finger-shaped bruises littered across her ribcage clear as day.

"You don't think she did that to herself, do you?" he chokes.

Sarah falls quiet. "No," she says at last. "No, I think we need to…"

But she trails off. Because now there's a flurry of activity from the corridor outside; running footsteps, shouting, though took far away yet for Matt to make out the words.

"Sapphi! Sapphi, wait, Sapphira, listen! Sapphira!"

And then Sapphi bursts into the dressing room, practically falling over her own feet in a mad dash to make it through the doors before the voices behind are given the chance to catch up with her and hold her back. But the moment she crosses the threshold she notices Jenna sprawled out lifelessly across the sofa, notices the overwhelming smell of blood that hadn't even come to Matt's attention until now.

Suddenly she's frozen, as motionless as Jenna, rooted to the spot for long enough for Freema to come hurtling around the corner and wrap her arms around her in a bid to offer her some comfort, her own face a perfect mix of shock and horror. Steven, John, David and Billie follow close behind along with a random assortment of backstage crew, their expressions not dissimilar to Freema's; pure, simple shock and disbelief. None of them were expecting quite this, that much is perfectly clear.

All of them except Sapphi, that is. Sapphi's expression is the most unexpected, the most worrying and the most revealing all at once.

There's no shock on her face, not anymore, not like there was in that horrible split second when she noticed Jenna collapsed in Matt's arms back in the studio. It's as if she were shocked at witnessing Jenna unconscious, but the injuries before her now, and the blood, don't seem to have fazed her the slightest little bit. It's as though she was expecting it, Matt realises slowly, it's as though she knew somehow, she _knew_…

Anger. That's what it is on her face in the place of shock and horror- anger.

She knows something, Matt knows she does. She knows something.

Steven speaks first. "What the hell happened?" he asks, sounding strangely less put together than usual. "Is she alright?"

"We don't know," Sarah tells him, turning to address the rest of the room. "Matt carried her out here after she collapsed, as far as I can tell she's been attacked with something, looks like a knife wound. It's not as deep as it looks, she'll be alright, I'm hoping she'll come round in the next few minutes and then we'll get her to hospital and get her checked out properly." She turns to Sapphi now, her face softening a little. Sapphi is still held tightly in Freema's arms, her face a picture of pure anger and hatred that so far Freema appears to have been the only other person to pick up on; Matt can tell from the look she's shooting him across the room.

"Sapphira, sweetheart, you'll know this. Is Oscar in the audience tonight? Jenna's mum and dad, a close friend, maybe?"

"Her mum and dad, brother, brother's wife, grandma, granddad, three of her best friends. They've got my tickets." Sapphi's voice is unnaturally quiet yet strangely level; she was expecting something like this, Matt is sure of it. This reaction isn't normal, not even for someone with all of Sapphi's problems, she sounds… rehearsed, almost, too rehearsed, as though she's been given a script of lines to learn off, instructed as to what to say. Something's going on, he knows it, something's not right…

Sarah turns to the other members of the backstage crew lurking in the doorway. "We need to track her mum down, anyone else you can find failing her. They must have seen what happened, they're going to be worried. Bring her mum through here, OK?"

"Wait," Steven calls, just as the backstage crew turn to leave. "Oscar's here tonight too, right Sapphi? I'm sure I saw him earlier."

"Yep, he's here too I think," Sapphi adds. "He dropped us off, I think he stayed."

"Right, we need to find him," Sarah instructs the backstage crew hovering near the door. "Hopefully she's going to come round in the next few minutes, it'd be far better for him and her mum to take her to A and E."

That's when it happens.

It all happens so quickly, and yet in Matt's mind it appears to occur in slow motion, like a nightmare he can't quite pull himself away from.

The backstage crew disappear out of the door and along the corridor back in the direction of the studio, towards absolute chaos, Matt suspects.

Sapphi's head turns and she stares right at him, eyes wide, pleading, confused, and Matt finds himself more convinced than ever before that she knows something she's not saying.

"Sapphi," he says gently. "Sapphi, listen to me. If you know anything, anything at all about what happened to Jenna, how she… how she got into this state, you know it's really, really important to tell us, don't you? No one's going to be angry with you, no one's going to let anything bad happen. It's really, really important you tell us if you know anything at all, Sapphi, do you understand?"

Sapphi is still for a moment, silent and still, her eyes flitting between Jenna and Matt and Jenna again. Suddenly all eyes in the room are on her and she seems painfully aware of it, eyes wide; Matt begins to worry she's too overwhelmed to be of any help. She's so close, he's sure of it; she's so, so close to letting out her secret. She's just a child, after all, a secret is a terrible burden to a child. She's close, a little more reassurance and she'll…

And suddenly Sapphi drops to the floor. She drops, causing Freema's hold around her to give, crawling under her legs and with superhuman speed, makes a mad sprint towards the door. Freema recovers and dashes after her, but too late; Sapphi has already snatched the key from below the door knob on the inside of the dressing room and slammed it shut hard behind her. Freema's hands fly to the door handle but it's too late; there's a horribly smug click as the key turns in the lock from the other side of the door and it's perfectly clear that no amount of tugging at the door handle is going to do any good.

Sapphi has locked them all into a third storey dressing room, taking full advantage of the old fashioned lock and key locking system and turning it against them too fast for anyone to fight back.

"Sapphira!" Steven bellows, his tone beyond angry; terrifying, enough to make anyone stop in their tracks. "Sapphira Hoxha, open the door right now! Do you hear me? Open the fucking door Sapphira, I'm not bloody joking!"

"I can't!" a distraught voice from the other side of the door shouts. "Don't you get it? I can't!"

"What do you mean, you can't?" Steven retorts. "You can't let us save Jenna's life? After everything she's done for you? I don't know what you're trying to achieve, Sapphira, but this isn't the way to do it, you understand me? Open the door, for god's sake!"

"You don't understand!" Sapphi sobs anxiously, voice muffled. "You don't understand, you don't understand!"

"Then help us understand," Freema tries, curling up against the door. "Come on Sapphi, please? We're listening, I promise, it's going to be alright. What don't we understand?"

"Everything!" Sapphi protests. "Everything! You don't understand, you think you're making it better but you're just going to make it all worse! I promised, I promised I wouldn't let this happen," she sobs, quieter this time. "I promised."

"Promised what?" Freema presses. "Promised what, Sapphi? Did you promise Jenna you wouldn't let anyone find out she was hurt, Sapphi, is that it?"

Silence falls.

"Sapphi? Sapphi, are you still there?" Freema calls urgently. "Talk to me Sapphira, come on, talk to me. Sapphira!"

But still silence, just silence.

Nothing but horrible, tormenting silence.


	4. Chapter 4

**So this is chapter 4, and as promised, it jumps back to the beginning of the story and from here on in the story is going to progress chronologically. The effect I'm going for is that the first 3 chapters will start to make sense as the story progresses, so if you're still confused at the end of this chapter bear with me, in a few chapters time it will, I promise (and if it doesn't, you have permission to shout at me via my PM box!) **

**Thank you again so much to all you wonderful people who reviewed the last chapter, I honestly can't tell you how happy you made me. Thank you for all your support so far, please do keep the reviews coming. And thank you to all my lovely favouriters and followers too, but I'd love you even more if you left me a review, just saying ;) **

**One last thing, if you want to read more MattJenna, then you might like to check out CrazyBowtieGirl's fic 'Everything has changed', it's all kinds of fabulous and I'm offically addicted.**

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**Chapter 4**

**5 months earlier- July 2013**

He dumped her at the airport, in the departure lounge, to be completely precise.

It's ironic, all things considered; ironic that the wording of that particular sentence has the potential to be just a little ambiguous. The word 'dump', according to the dictionary, can be defined as 'to put down or drop something in a careless manner.' In this context, this definition of 'dump' could be taken perfectly literally. It would be incorrect to do so, of course, but it's perfectly plausible.

To do this would be to infer that he physically dumped her at the airport; that he was in something of a rush, perhaps, that he had just enough time to drop her off there before he had to dash off to his next appointment, that his panicked rush in doing so meant that his dropping her off would be better described as dumping, as doing so rather carelessly- carelessly rather than affectionately purely due to the time constriction, of course, nothing more to it than that.

That inference, or indeed any other based on the literal interpretation of the meaning of the word 'dump' in the context of the sentence 'he dumped her at the airport' would be woefully incorrect, but still it comforts her a little to know that it _could_ be interpreted that way, that it's perfectly possible. Which is more than a little ridiculous, because she knows full well which meaning of 'dump' was in play in that airport departure lounge, and it certainly was not the literal one.

The English language is littered with broken rules and inconsistences, everything you thought you knew about it always proven by an exception.

An awful lot like love and relationships, really.

What is meant by the sentence 'he dumped her at the airport', of course, is absolutely nothing to do with being under time pressure and having to chuck her out quickly at the front of the terminal to avoid being late to wherever he's headed next. It's nothing to do with that, because the meaning of the word 'dump' in this particular context is the slang meaning.

To dump: to suddenly end a romantic relationship with one's partner.

That's the meaning relevant to this particular sentence, and she knows it full well. And no amount of pondering on how a word can have more than one meaning within the English language will do anything to change that.

She's rather ashamed to admit that she never even saw it coming. Perhaps that failure to anticipate his impending counting his losses and getting out is rather telling as to exactly what went wrong between them, she ponders on the 10 hour flight back to London Heathrow, now unexpectedly alone. They simply didn't see enough of each other, especially not recently.

It had never exactly been easy to be away from him for such long periods at a time, but she had thought of it as something of a necessary evil; something which simply had to be put up with and worked around, for now at least, if she wanted to be with him (to be with him as in date him, of course, as opposed to the literal meaning of the phrase. That rather proved her point as far as the inconsistencies of the English language went, that it can be possible for a phrase to have two so opposing meanings in two not so different contexts). Going with him wherever work took him had never been an option unless she wanted to shed herself of every last trace of independence she possessed, and not under any circumstances was she prepared to do that.

And so she had accepted their unconventional set up for what it was, reasoning with a glass half full attitude that the time apart dependent on Skype at antisocial hours of the morning in order to maintain their relationship across the time zones would make the time they did get to be together (the literal meaning of the phrase, in this instance) all the more precious. She had always assumed that he felt the same way, or else how could their relationship possibly last? It had been two years, after all: two years since the pair of them had first met at a ruin bar in Budapest. Both had been working away from home even then; in many ways, she supposed, that first meeting and its circumstances summed up the nature of their two year long relationship perfectly. Two years of dating whenever they could and making do with Skype the rest of time (the word 'rest', in this instance, unfortunately coming to mean the majority) and yet she trusted him as though they had been married for twenty.

Had. Had trusted. Now, in light of his recent revelations in the airport departure lounge, she wouldn't trust him as far as she could throw him.

Well no, maybe that wasn't completely fair. He hadn't given her a reason not to trust him, she supposed, not really. He had just turned bloody unpleasant towards her when it came to biting the bullet and getting it over with, and even then, she knew it was all her fault.

But anyway, she had been reminiscing about trust.

She had trusted him far more than she supposed was normal for a couple having been together for just two short years, something she put down to the very nature of a relationship that was almost exclusively long distance at times. There had been no option but to place a considerable amount of trust in him when he was away filming all over the shot for so many months of the year, not to mention her own filming in Cardiff almost always seeming to clash tauntingly with the few weeks off he was given and vice versa. They had been given no choice but to place an infinite amount of trust in one another and each of the couple had obliged willingly, knowing it was the only way for their relationship to survive in such circumstances.

She had hoped, even assumed- naively of course, she saw that now- that a relationship built on such trust would easily last a lifetime.

How wrong she had been.

She had never been dumped before- did that make her sound rather pathetic, to have reached 27 years old and never been dumped? Most probably, yes, but he was only her second boyfriend, that was the truth of it. She had been far too preoccupied with her nose in a book the majority of her school career to spare a second thought for boys (unless they happened to be in her drama group or her dance partner, that was), and the bullies who had tormented her during her senior sixth year had ensured none of the boys would touch her with a barge pole. She had been the one to do the dumping where her first boyfriend was concerned, and a few months later she had met Richard in Budapest, and the rest was history (literal meaning fully intended, by the time she boarded the plane back to London).

In his defence, he had tried to do it gently. That was him all over, a perfect gentleman until the very end. That said, he isn't entirely convinced he had thoroughly thought through his choice of location for aforementioned dumping; LAX is not exactly the quietest, most discrete of places.

With the benefit of hindsight, she strongly suspects he wanted to get it over with before he landed back home in London, but didn't succeed in finding the heart to tell her until the last possible moment.

It's only been a couple of hours, but already she can't quite remember how he brought it up. A blur, that's what it's become in her mind, a murky blur of emotions and heartache that ceased to make any sort of sense startlingly quickly. She feels a little as though she's in shock, heart racing even now; her hands feel cold, clammy, even to her. A fresh wave of shivers passes through her like a cold November wind and she pulls her knees up to her chest, resting her chin between them and closing her eyes wearily.

She wants to forget.

That's all she wants right now, she just wants to forget. She's tired, so tired; all she wants is to be able to close her eyes and forget long enough for her to catch up on some much needed sleep before the plane touches back down in London Heathrow.

Of course, now she feels tired enough to contemplate sleep, the details of the break-up which she can recall with perfect clarity have reshuffled themselves stubbornly to the forefront of her mind, tormenting her, refusing point blank to leave her in peace.

_He had waited until their suitcases were checked in, until they were through passport control and security, until they were sat side by side in a relatively quiet corner of the departure lounge at their gate of LAX airport. Richard had been the one to book the flights, she remembered that; little had she known when she had allowed him to go ahead and do it without her, that detail would prove rather crucial. _

_The departure lounge had been rather quiet thanks to them arriving far earlier than strictly necessary- that was the pair of them all over, organised and obsessively so. On this particular occasion they had been early even for them; a part of her wondered now if he had planned it all out with military precision, realised that if they arrived far enough in advance, they would practically be alone in the departure lounge, giving him the perfect opportunity to dump her for good in relative privacy, away from prying eyes. _

_The setting, the mood, the atmosphere, even the smell and the temperature of the departure lounge in that moment when he broke it to her she could recall with perfect clarity, yet what exactly was said between the pair of them was thoroughly distorted in her mind. _

_She couldn't even remember quite how he had brought the subject up. No… perhaps she had, unwittingly, totally oblivious to his plan… perhaps she had asked him what he fancied doing tomorrow? They each had a brief window of free time once they landed back in London before they were to head off to separate projects once more, an opportunity to spend some time together back at home before the craziness began all over again and who knew when they would have some time off which coincided next. _

_Perhaps that had been how it had come up, she couldn't remember. All she remembers is Richard all of a sudden coming out with something along the lines of how he didn't think this was working anymore, that he wasn't happy and hadn't been for several months now. _

_She remembers thinking at first- stupidly- that it was work he was talking about, that he was finding being apart from her for such long periods of time harder than he had before. Self-centred, that's what she was, though she only realised later. She was self-centred and childish and pretty damn ridiculous to allow herself to believe even for a moment that his world revolved around her. _

_Thank god she held her tongue, didn't blurt out something about promising to try and find work closer to one another from now on. That might just have been one humiliation too much to bear. _

_She doesn't remember exactly what was said next. All she can recall is that she was rendered speechless, from which, in hindsight, she infers that perhaps her evident shock as the true meaning of his words began to sink in had the opposite effect on him. She couldn't string a sentence together, he couldn't stop talking. _

_And suddenly he was rambling, droning on and on, almost panicked, under pressure, about how they'd had a great two years together but he just didn't feel it was working anymore, that for the majority of their time together their having to communicate mostly through Skype had never been a problem, because he had loved her. But lately, he announced, it had become a burden, and it wasn't fair, it wasn't fair to string her along any longer pretending that everything was fine between them, because the simple truth of the matter was that he didn't love her anymore, and he was sorry, but he refused to pretend a moment longer. _

_At first, a part of her had been a little relieved; relieved because it was perfectly obvious from his choice of words, the way in which the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth seemed to flow from within him uncontrollably the moment he opened his mouth like a terrible burden he had been carrying for rather a long time. _

_At least he had waited until Comic Con was over, she had thought in those initial few seconds of processing the truth he had just confessed to her, at least he had kept up the pretence during that long anticipated week of being together at one of the biggest events of their working calendars, not to mention one of the most exciting for their fans. At least he had restrained himself from dumping her halfway through Comic Con, leaving her to explain away to a prying camera why all of a sudden the she and Richard were no longer attending the evening parties together, no longer holding hands in between panels, no longer gate-crashing one another's interviews. He had been considerate until the very end, if nothing else- that was her initial thought._

_And then she stopped to think about it just a moment too long and suddenly she saw it all in a rather different light. _

_It had all been an act, she realised, a carefully calculated act to make his own life easier. He hadn't been thinking of her at all, of course not, he had only been thinking of himself, because of course all those initial scenarios she had thought of would have applied to him, too. To a greater extent, even; he was far bigger a star than her and she knew it full well- not that she was jealous, merely stating a fact. He had done it all for himself, he had kept up the pretence all week long to make his own life easier when it came to dealing with media attention. _

_This way, he had been able to give off the impression of being in a happy, stable relationship the entire week he had spent in the spotlight, and would be free of her at last just as he retreated back out of the public eye. It was the perfect ploy; he had known full well at the start of the week they had spent in Los Angeles together that it was most likely going to be the last they saw of each other in person for a good few months. _

_By the time it became obvious to the media that they were no longer together, he would be long shot of her._

_He had used her, pure and simple, and she couldn't see how she would possibly find it in her heart to forgive him._

_Then, of course, the worst blow of the lot came, as she realised she wouldn't even bloody have to._

_She had lost it a little then, if she remembered correctly. A rather selfish part of her had been planning on losing it with him properly, screaming and shouting and making her opinions on the matter perfectly clear; that she felt bloody used and she wished he'd had just the slightest slither of respect left for her, even if he didn't love her anymore. She had intended to make him feel guilty, that was the effect she had been aiming for. _

_But it had all come out in a frantic, emotional waterfall of tears instead._

_If anything, her apparent inability to be angry at him without dissolving into tears had only made her hate him even more. _

_She couldn't even recall what she had eventually managed to say to him through her tears; all she hoped was that she hadn't begged him, that she hadn't allowed herself to sink that low. But she did know only too well that she must have angered him in her distress, because the next thing she knew he had lost it altogether, his voice angry; a tense, deathly quiet angry, as though despite his losing all patience with her he had managed to remember that they were still in a public place and that raising his voice would only attract unwanted attention. _

_It was as though she had unwittingly pushed him over the edge. Perhaps she had; he was a planner after all, like her, meticulously organised. Perhaps he had wrongly assumed- convinced himself, even- that she felt the same way regarding their relationship as he did, that she would view his confession as something of a relief. Perhaps, with that in mind, he had then planned out exactly how he was to go about ending things with her, that evening in the LAX departure lounge._

_Perhaps, just perhaps, he had been so caught up in that assumption (which, let's face it, made his own life a hell of a lot easier) that he had failed to come up with something in the way of a backup plan, to be put into place just in case she didn't want to end things as much as he did. _

_And that lack of preparation meant that when she failed to react as he had planned, he lost the plot completely, calm and composed exterior shattered as though it were made of a thin, delicate frame of glass._

_All of a sudden he was full of excuses as to why it just wasn't working, reasons he didn't love her any longer, a taunting list of the crimes she had apparently committed which had contributed to his being unable to go on. _

_Her, all her, it was all her fault. _

_She was too wrapped up in her own work half of the time to make an effort to come and see him. She was too obsessed, always jumping onto the next project without pausing for a moment to breathe, signing up for more work in her three month break from Doctor Who filming when she could have taken it off and spent more time with him instead. _

_She was too chatty, never shut up when the pair of them were alone together, didn't know the meaning of the word silence or when to tone it down and just let him be._

_She was too quiet when amongst a group of people she didn't know so well, shrinking back into her shell and leaving him to handle all the damned talking. Didn't she know he wasn't her bloody PR?_

_She wasn't right for him, they didn't look right together, weren't ever going to last. She was too short (she had cringed a little at that; he hadn't said it but a part of her wondered if he had been thinking of those awfully embarrassing Nerd HQ interviews that week with those ridiculously huge chairs- or was she just ridiculously short? - which left her legs dangling awkwardly, feet far from the ground until someone had been kind enough to bring her cushions), she was too fat, he hated the way her left cheek dimpled more than her right when she smiled… he just wasn't attracted to her anymore, simple as that, and there were a whole list of reasons as to why. _

At least, she thought he'd said all that… hadn't he? Or in her confused, emotionally distraught state, had she elaborated, filled in the gaps between his mindless, hole-digging ramblings with details stored from other, far earlier incidents in the darkest corners of her mind?

What does it matter what he said, anyway? Jenna decides, shivering in the cold of the plane, dropping her legs back down to the floor (thankfully her feet can touch the floor today, just), sucking in her stomach, composing herself. It doesn't matter, she doesn't care; she won't let his words affect her. It's not like she saw an awful lot of him anyway, all that's going to change is considerably less time spent on Skype at funny hours of the day. That's all. Other than that her life is going to continue more or less as normal, as though nothing ever happened. She'll barely even notice that he's gone.

Except that isn't true, Jenna realises with a sinking feeling in her heart. That simply isn't true. Matt… Matt was friends with Richard long before he met her through work, long before she met Richard while filming in Budapest. Matt has been Richard's friend for far longer than he's been hers; there's no doubting whose side he is going to take, especially now he won't be working with her for longer than another few weeks. She's going to lose him too, Jenna realises, shaking with what she tells herself is cold. She knows she is.

She's going to lose Matt, too.

And just like that, she loses her composure all over again.

At which point, Jenna come to the conclusion that however cruel and misleading it was of him, she's rather glad that Richard planned this break up out with military precision, rather glad that she allowed him to book the tickets.

Because he's clever, of course, he had this all worked out from the start. He's booked them tickets at opposite ends of the plane.

It hurts, it hurts like hell, but at least she knows she doesn't have to face him, not even at passport control and luggage collection provided she takes her time getting off the plane.

She doesn't think she could bear it if she had to face him.

It's funny, Jenna realises, shifting in her seat and curling her legs up beneath her, pulling her cardigan around her self-consciously, wishing she'd worn a looser vest top that didn't cling to her stomach, her hips, in all the wrong places. It's funny how it's been just over an hour, and already she doesn't feel half as upset as she did at first.

Numb, that's the best word to describe it. She feels numb.

Numb and cheated and lied to and unappreciated, and yet at the same time horrifically guilty and responsible.

It's her fault, she decides, it's her own fault. She should have realised she wasn't attractive enough for him, she should have tried harder. It's her own stupid fault.

But it's going to be alright, Jenna tells herself, of course it is. It's going to be fine. She'll find someone else before long; plenty more fish in the sea and all that. She'll find someone else before long and she'll be happy again.

She will. She won't feel like this forever. It'll get better.

It has to.

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**Don't forget to review, it won't take a minute :) I don't know you're enjoying it unless you tell me.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 already, I managed to churn this one out in an hour, so I hope it's OK! More Matt in this one, and there will be even more of him in chapter 6 if you guys want it :) Thank you so, so much for your wonderful reviews CrazyBowtieGirl, ilearnedthatfromthepizzaman, LilliasCraven (I know they were, the last chapter is where the line between fanfiction and reality lies I guess. But thank you for the compliment!), Nikki Pond (sorry, didn't make that very clear, chapter 4 and onwards Matt was always going to be bald due to where in time these chapters begin. Chapters 1-3 are set in the future and therefore the land of fanfiction though, so I guess I get to decide whether or not he has hair :P ) and a person, you guys are absolutely fantastic. Reviews really do help me write faster, all of you who take the time to leave them mean the absolute world. It'll take you a few seconds to write a short one, that's all :) **

**Just in case you haven't heard yet, the 12th Doctor is going to be revealed in a television special on Sunday, time and channel dependent on where you live. I'm hoping for Ben Daniels- firstly, because he's fab, and secondly because Until recently, he played senior crown prosecutor James Steel on Law and Order UK, alongside Freema Agyeman, AKA Martha Jones, who played his junior crown prosecutor Alesha Philips, and Peter Davison, AKA the 5th doctor and David Tennant's father in law, still plays director of the Crown Prosecution Service Henry Sharpe. So we just need Ben to be the 12th doctor, and all of them will have traveled in the TARDIS. You heard it here first ;P **

**Hope you enjoy this chapter**

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**Chapter 5**

She takes her time gathering her belongings together and proceeding off the plane when at last it touches down at London Heathrow, waiting until the last possible moment before she slips her feet back into her shoes, extracts her bag from below the seat in front of her and, finally, leaving her seat and beginning to walk down the central aisle of the plane.

She's thought this all through; as it turned out, Richard had booked himself a seat at the front of the plane, and her a seat right at the very back. Clearly he didn't want to take any chances and run the risk of bumping into her in the queue for the toilets, not after ending things with her for good in the departure lounge back in Los Angeles. Jenna can't say she blames him.

But it had worked in her favour, all things considered, because the length of the plane means the pair of them are so far apart, Jenna is reasonably confident that her lingering as long as possible before getting off the plane will be enough to ensure that her chances of encountering her now ex-boyfriend in the passport control queue remain relatively low. Luggage collection will be trickier, she ponders… perhaps she could hang around in the toilets for a few minutes or so, given that Richard would be one of the first through passport control and she one of the last, would that be enough to minimise the chances of seeing him?

Perhaps. And if not, Jenna reassures herself, she has the upper hand, knowing she will be the latter of the pair of them to make it into the luggage collection area. If she sees him, she will simply turn around and head in the opposite direction before he sees her, wait for her suitcases to appear at the other side of the conveyer belt. It will be fine.

Originally, the plan had been for her to go back to Richard's for the weekend, to stay over at his until Monday morning when she would have to head up to Cardiff, repack, then continue on to York for her latest project. Clearly, that plan is now going to have to be revised.

What to do? There are various different options, there must be, yet her mind has gone completely blank with panic. 1pm on a Saturday morning, a few miles outside London… where could she go? At present she lived the majority of her life between London and Cardiff- Cardiff when filming Doctor Who, London when not. That was possible. But the trouble with her London home was that she shared it with a group of her oldest friends; a group of them had moved in together several years ago on what was originally intended to be a temporary basis. They're lovely, they really are, but right now Jenna isn't particularly in the mood for company.

She doesn't want to have to see anyone; not now, and not for a very long time. She just wants to be alone, completely and utterly alone.

Which means that going back to Cardiff two days earlier than planned is going to be the best option, Jenna decides with a sigh; she isn't exactly thrilled at the prospect of spending the next two hours or so driving down the M4, not on top of the ten and a half hour flight to Heathrow in the first place. But it is a better plan than the alternative; at least she won't have to face anyone during that long, tedious drive. At least she can arrive home at long last to an empty flat, be alone for the weekend and not have to even speak to anyone should she choose to isolate herself from the world completely.

She can't face it, she just can't. She feels as though it's all her fault and the entire world is poised and ready to laugh at her.

She makes it through passport control a little faster than she would have liked and ends up killing an additional ten minutes in the toilets en route to luggage collection, too ashamed to emerge. Jenna doesn't understand what's wrong with her, why she's allowing herself to be so completely and utterly pathetic about this, she really doesn't. It's a part of life, this feeling of rejection she is currently experiencing; it's normal, it happens to everyone. Or most people, at least. Surely only a rather small minority of people on the planet are fortunate enough to drift through life without ever being dumped? It's normal, of course it is. She's simply unbelievably lucky- or unlucky, there are two contrasting ways of looking at it- to have reached the age of 27 without having to experience it before.

But still she can't quite bring herself to unlock the door and venture back out into the airport to reclaim her luggage, not yet. That feeling of being horribly ashamed just won't go away, no matter how hard she wills it to. She feels ashamed, responsible, as though the blame for her and Richard going their separate ways is rightfully placed entirely on her shoulders. It's her own fault, all her own fault. It's like he said, she's too wrapped up in work, too self-centred, too quiet in company, too chatty when not, she's too _short_, too _fat_… that needs to change, all of it. All of it that she has any control over, anyway.

That was what he said, wasn't it? Jenna thinks so. She thinks she remembers what he said, but it's all something of a blur… she had been so distraught by that point that she couldn't have been concentrating properly, couldn't say with absolute certainty that she wasn't confusing that awful incident with Richard in the airport departure lounge with several others from long ago she would rather forget…

No, Jenna decides, not quite as adamantly as she would have liked. No, she definitely isn't getting confused, that was definitely what he said. Definitely.

In which case, she needs to do something about his long list of her faults, rather rapidly, if she doesn't want to end up alone for good.

Eventually she feels satisfied that she's allowed Richard plenty of time to collect his luggage and exit the airport and unlocks the toilet door, stopping in front of the mirror by the door before she heads out and off in the direction of luggage claim. She looks a mess, Jenna concludes, cringing a little at the sight of her own reflection. Her eyes are tired and bloodshot, lids heavy; clearly the copious amount of sobbing and brief couple of hours of light sleep she managed to get on the flight are not the best of combinations. Her hair is a mess, clumps flicking in odd directions. She looks shattered, withdrawn, defeated, desperately unhappy.

In other words, she needs to pull herself together.

She runs a brush through her hair, splashes her face with cold water, wipes her eyes (how is it there are any tears left to fall, after all those hours non-stop over the Atlantic?) and reapplies her makeup. She adjusts her clothing, then takes one more long, hard look at herself in the mirror before sighing wearily and heading out the door.

She feels uncomfortable. She feels horribly uncomfortable in her own skin in a way she hasn't done for years, and she doesn't like it. She doesn't like it at all.

The luggage conveyer belt is far easier to negotiate when the majority of passengers have already located their suitcases and headed out of the airport; Jenna makes a mental note of this strategy for next time. She struggles her way out of the terminal and into the car park dragging a suitcase almost as big as she is behind her, hardly conscious of her own actions, operating almost completely on autopilot. She's rather thankful she eventually decided to drive to the airport rather than get a taxi; attempting to lift her suitcases into the boot of her car might be a struggle, but at least she wouldn't have to attempt to make conversation with a taxi driver, or transfer onto a train at London Waterloo and work out how many connections there were between Waterloo station and Cardiff.

She doesn't have the energy to get into a conversation concerning how rough the night before had been (because let's face it, Jenna sighs to herself, it wouldn't be a completely unreasonable conclusion for a taxi driver to jump to at the sight of her).

And so she slams shut the boot of her car and drives away alone into a pleasantly warm British afternoon, shivering in spite of the rare summer sun over the capital. She doesn't look back, she can't make herself do it. No point dwelling on the past when there's nothing she can possibly do to change it.

All she can do is focus on the present, do whatever it takes to ensure that if and when she finds someone else who makes her happy, she won't ruin things again like she has this time around.

The traffic flow simply getting onto the M3 at the Heathrow junction, rather worryingly, resembles the traffic flow coming into the tourist end of Blackpool on a Friday evening of a bank holiday weekend. Jenna groans, having done enough motorway driving in her time by now to know that if the M3 is like this now, getting on for 1.30pm on a perfectly normal Saturday, the M4 down to Cardiff is going to be absolute hell.

She pauses for a moment at the roundabout onto the motorway, contemplating.

She doesn't have to do this now, of course. She could head into London for the day, entertain herself somehow for a few hours and tackle the impending doom of the motorway back to Cardiff later on, in the hope that a few hours would be enough time for the traffic to die down.

The other option is to go back to the flat she shares with her best friends in London, to confide in them (Jenna knows full well she won't be able to disguise the fact that something's wrong, not from them, they know her too well) and allow them to offer a shoulder to cry on.

Except neither of those are really options, Jenna decides, not really. Neither one of those options will allow her to be completely and utterly alone for the rest of the weekend and drown her sorrows, and that happens to be what she so desperately needs right now. A quiet voice in the back of her mind tries to tell her that perhaps her friends are exactly what she needs right now, but Jenna ignores it stubbornly, decision made, indicating left and pulling onto the motorway, headed back to Cardiff.

She doesn't want to be comforted, and she certainly doesn't want to be force fed chocolate in front of a feel-good film.

She doesn't deserve it, she knows she doesn't.

How can she possibly deserve to be comforted when it's all her own fault she no longer has a boyfriend?

She's on the M4, Cardiff-bound, stuck in a long line of traffic when she gets his call (how can there be so much traffic on a Saturday afternoon, for goodness' sake? Who on earth are all these people? It's the weekend, it's a rare sunny day without a cloud in sight, don't they have something better to be doing with themselves that's not sitting in a day moving at a snails' pace in the general direction of South Wales?) She's knows it's him immediately, of course; he's one of the few people she has a specially reserved ring tone for on her phone. Quite simply because he has a wonderful ability to make her smile when all else has failed, an uncanny way of calling her just when she needs him to cheer her up- though she'd never tell him that, of course. There's nothing more to it than that.

"Hi Matt." Jenna does her best to keep her voice level, calm, controlled, knowing full well that even over the phone he has a talent for knowing almost straight away when there's something wrong. But not today, she tells herself firmly, not today. Today, she is going to force herself to do such a convincing job of acting as though everything is absolutely fine that even Matt will fail to see through her façade.

She has to. Matt and Richard are close friends, after all; the two of them were friends long before she met each of them respectively. She can't crack and tell him she's upset because she's a crap girlfriend and Richard can't put up with her any longer, she just can't. She can't let Matt know it's all her fault she and Richard are no longer together; he wants his friend to be happy, he'd hate her if he knew her imperfections, her flaws, her faults, have made him unhappy enough to have to dump her. He'd finish off filming the Doctor Who Christmas Special, be civil to her until then, but after that he'd never want anything to do with her ever again.

No, she can't tell him, she just can't. She's just going to have to keep quiet and pretend as if nothing is wrong, and then hope and pray when Matt eventually catches up with Richard, the exact details as to why their relationship ended will never be disclosed.

"OK, OK, you win, Coleman, you've convinced me," Matt's voice announces from the other end of the line, and in spite of everything Jenna can't help but smile. "You and Moffat, anyway. You see, this is what you going home a day early and leaving me at the mercy of Moffat does to me, I've only gone and agreed to stay for the game show thing and the Easter Special. Looks like you're going to have to put up with me another few months, at least."

"You've what?" Jenna asks, a little taken aback by the tone of her own voice. She was aiming for disbelief, yet somehow her current mood has managed to morph it into something else, something which doesn't sound particularly enthusiastic. It was disbelief she was aiming for; she's a little lost, not quite ready to allow herself to believe it. She's excited at the prospect of having someone new to work with once the 12th doctor has been cast, of course, but her heart had sunk rather a lot when Matt had announced he was leaving. And now this news has taken her by surprise completely; how many times had she found herself wishing he would change his mind, decide to stay for just a little while longer? And now…

"Oh come on, you could at least sound happy about it!" Matt teases her. "Here I am signing myself up until next February at least, thinking you'd be pleased and I call you to share the news and that's the reaction I get? Blimey, was being cooped up for 10 hours on a plane next to Richard really that bad?"

So he doesn't know, Jenna realises, he doesn't know about her and Richard. He can't do. Beneath his constant attempts to wind her up and tease her, Matt is one of the most considerate people she's ever known; there's no way he would phone her up so excited knowing she'd just broken up with her boyfriend, even to break the news to her that he would be staying on Doctor Who with her for another six months.

So she can't let it slip. She can't be the one to tell him, not given it's all her fault and Matt and her now ex-boyfriend are such good friends. There's no question about it, it has to be Richard who tells him.

"No, no, it's not you!" Jenna covers quickly. "That's brilliant Matt, honestly, that's fantastic! Sorry, bad traffic, wasn't concentrating. So what made you change your mind?" she asks, attempting to change the subject, not quite as subtly as she had intended.

"I don't know, a combination of things I guess," Matt explains. "Steven asked me again, and I don't have anything lined up for the next few months anyway, not yet. I wasn't sure about the whole game show thing at first, it seemed a bit X Factor to me if I'm honest. But then I thought, well Steven and everyone do know what they're doing, and… I don't know really, this last week, Comic Con and everything, really swung it for me I guess."

"So you're staying?" If nothing else, this news has done something to lift Jenna's mood. At least she isn't losing Matt from her life on top of Richard, not yet, not for another six months.

But then she remembers her failure, her long list of faults which led to Richard dumping her, and suddenly Matt staying on for another six months of Doctor Who doesn't seem so fantastic.

What if Richard tells him, what if he tells Matt the real reason their relationship had to end? He would cease to be her friend, become merely a colleague. He wouldn't want anything more to do with her outside of work, if only he knew.

"Yep, that's the plan. At least until the end of the Easter Special, we'll see what happens after that. Anyway, did you say you're driving?" Matt asks, his tone changing, and in her mind's eye Jenna can see his face contorting into a frown. "I thought you were going back to Richard's this weekend? The traffic can't be that bad getting out of Heathrow, surely?"

"No, I…" Jenna stammers, struggling to keep her voice from shaking and betraying her horribly. "Slight change of plan, I'm going back to Cardiff today. I'm filming on Tuesday, Death comes to Pemberley in York, I just thought it's going to be far too hectic getting up there in time via Cardiff if I leave it until Monday. You know what I'm like with packing."

"True, true," Matt chuckles. "How on earth you thought you'd be able to pack for 3 weeks in the space of 3 hours I'll never understand."

"Oi!"

"You know I'm right, Jenna, you know I'm right. So is Richard coming back to Cardiff with you?"

"No, no he's…" Jenna pauses, struggling to come up with an adequate cover story. She's fine with a script, learning off lines and slotting the acting in around them is easy, but improvisation, on the spot, under pressure, is a different story altogether.

"Slight change of plan, he has to stay in London," Jenna covers, only hoping the wobble in her voice isn't too detectable over the phone. "It's just me battling the M4 traffic, unfortunately."

There's a pause. "Are you alright?" Matt asks carefully, and Jenna knows immediately from the concern in his tone that he can detect there's something wrong. "Jenna?"

"I'm fine," Jenna insists, wiping at her eyes furiously, knowing full well once she allows herself to start crying she isn't going to be able to stop. "I'm fine, just a bit stressed, you know, the traffic's hell. I'll speak to you later Matt, yeah?"

And with that, Jenna ends the call in the nick of time, cutting Matt off right before it all gets too much and her sobbing becomes far too obvious to pass off as just a bad connection.

She can't tell him, she can't, no matter how badly she wants him to assure her that it'll all be alright in the end, that she'll find someone else and be happy again and all of this emotional distress will seem like a distant memory.

She can't tell him, she can't risk him viewing her as a terrible failure too. She just can't.

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**Was it OK? Please do let me know and review, it won't take long and that way I know you want me to write more :) Also, two questions for you: **

**1) What is Matt's favourite chocolate?**

**2) What is Jenna's favourite film?**

**We're talking in the context of this fanfiction, so make your suggestions via review and I'll choose one of each to incorporate into the next chapter :)**

**xx**


	6. Chapter 6

**So there has been a slight change of plan- this chapter ended up being much, much longer than I had anticipated, and as I won't have time to finish it tonight the options were leave it another day before I upload or cut it in half. So chapter 6 has been split, meaning the DVD and chocolate suggestions I went with will feature in chapter 7, not chapter 6. Sorry about that, but I thought you'd prefer that than waiting until tomorrow night for the update. Thank you all you amazingly fabulous people who reviewed chapter 5- that's CrazyBowtieGirl, RedAugust102, my 2 lovely guests, Nikki Pond (we'll get to Sapphi in a couple of chapters and it'll all make sense, promise), LilliasCraven, Ilearnedthatfromthepizzaman (aww I love you too, thank you for your wonderful review), Nightlock11 (If I told you the answer to that question I'd have to kill you ;)), zoz (again, Sapphi will be explained in the next few chapters, or begin to be explained anyway ;) ), a Person (you're very welcome, thank you for your lovely review and have another mention :) ), and huaermoondom (your English isn't bad at all, glad you're enjoying it :) ) ****and hope you like this chapter!**

**PS. for my non-British readers, Nando's is a restaurant/fast food type thing, they do spicy Portuguese chicken served in various different ways. It was mentioned in an interview Jenna did that the cast lived off Nando's take away during the filming of the 50th, and I've borrowed it. If you've never been before and you ever get the chance have the mango and lime chicken pita, it's fab.**

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**Chapter 6**

Matt arrives on the doorstep of Jenna's complex in Cardiff at six thirty precisely the following day- Sunday- take away paper carrier bag over one arm, plastic shopping bag in his hand. He's been back from Los Angeles only a few hours; he jumped straight into a taxi upon arriving at Heathrow airport, sacrificed a chance to stretch his legs after the long flight over from California in order to reach Jenna's flat as quickly as humanly possible.

He was tense the entire way along the M4 between Heathrow and Cardiff, willing his driver to put his foot down and get a move on when the traffic was flowing, cursing under his breath, highly irritated, when they hit gridlock. In those moments of impatience Matt had contemplated calling her, even taking his phone out of his pocket a handful of times and making it as far as his list of contacts before he talked himself out of it, coming to the conclusion that it would be better to wait until he saw her face to face.

He was worried about her; Jenna. He was incredibly, incredibly worried about her.

Matt was kicking himself now for not calling her back immediately after she had hung up on him the day before; he had known there was something wrong, he had just known. She hadn't seemed herself, not in the slightest. It had been over the phone, of course, over the phone with rather a lot of background noise coming from Jenna's end due to her having been driving down the motorway to Cardiff herself at the time, but even under those circumstances Matt had known full well there was something wrong.

She hadn't seemed right, she just hadn't… she hadn't seemed quite there, somehow. She had seemed withdrawn, disinterested in the world, distracted, as though something grave was troubling her and refusing to allow her to dedicate her full attention to anything else.

And then towards the end of the call, when she had revealed she was heading back to Cardiff early, alone, in order to allow herself enough time to pack before heading off to York for three weeks' worth of filming of her latest project, Matt could have sworn Jenna had sounded as though she were on the verge of tears. But she had hung up on him so abruptly when he had tried to ask her what was wrong… maybe that was his mistake, Matt had pondered in the taxi, maybe he had pushed her too hard? He shouldn't have been so up-front about it, he should have approached the subject carefully, given her time to begin to tell him what was wrong before he had gone blundering in and asked her bluntly. He shouldn't have allowed her to get so upset about whatever it was that she felt she had no option but to end the call.

He should have been there for her. She should have felt she could tell him anything; _he _should have ensured she felt she could tell him anything. Some friend he had been to her.

Matt knew what was wrong by now, of course; that was the reason he was currently standing on Jenna's doorstep, reaching over to press the intercom to ask her to buzz him up. He had put the pieces together just a few hours after Jenna had put the phone down on him, thanks to a phone call from Richard.

_Somehow- and Matt couldn't quite explain why- he had suspected it was something to do with Richard. Perhaps it had been the fact that Jenna had sounded not quite herself, but relatively together on the phone until Matt had mentioned his name; perhaps it had been the something not quite right, the something awkward, in Richard's manner when he and Jenna had said goodbye together before heading for LAX, or perhaps it had been something else altogether, something so subtle and apparently insignificant that Matt had failed to even recognise his taking it in, had done so subconsciously. _

_But whatever it was, somehow Matt had sensed it was connected to Richard. A row of some sort, he had assumed; perhaps ten hours cooped up alongside each other on a plane had caused one or both of them to snap at the other, leading to a minor argument which had resulted in neither speaking to the other by the time they touched back down at London Heathrow. Jenna might be a little upset for a while, as would Richard, but the pair of them would come round and make up with each other sooner or later, of course they would. _

_They were perfect for each other, they loved each other. Their relationship had lasted getting on for three years despite spending relatively little of that time physically together, relying heavily on phone calls and Skype; that wasn't easy, far from it. Casual relationships wouldn't survive a long distance set up like that, they just wouldn't. Richard and Jenna had to be destined for each other, head-over-heels in love to have lasted two years on the odd time off which happened to overlap and talking via a webcam at antisocial hours. Matt had been utterly convinced of it._

_At least, he had been utterly convinced of it right up until the moment Richard had called him asking for a favour. _

_"Sure, mate," Matt had responded at the time, still in Los Angeles and expecting to be asked to pick up something American for Richard to take back to his mother in order to pretend he hadn't forgotten- something like that, something trivial. "What is it?"_

_And then there had been a long, painful pause. "I need you to look in on Jenna when you get back tomorrow," Richard had said, voice so grave that it startled Matt a little; this was far from a trivial request, that much was all too obvious. "She's gone back to Cardiff; I know it's out of the way, Matt, I honestly wouldn't ask you if it wasn't…" Richard had sighed, trailing off. "I need you to make sure she's alright," he finished at last._

_Matt hadn't known quite how to respond to that. Whether or not Richard knew Matt had spoken to Jenna earlier that afternoon was unclear, but he knew Jenna was upset and he knew why, Matt was certain of that much. _

_Which begged the question: why wasn't Richard on his way down to Cardiff to be with Jenna himself if he knew what was wrong and cared so much? Matt hadn't been entirely convinced he wanted to know the answer to that particular question._

_"Why?" he had asked cautiously, painfully aware that to play this wrong could be disastrous. "What makes you think she isn't alright?"_

_There had been another long, painful spell of silence. _

_"I…" Richard had begun, his voice curiously hollow. "I dumped her last night." _

_"What?" Matt had failed miserably to keep the shock out of his voice. "You what?"_

_"I dumped her, OK, I dumped her!" Richard had repeated angrily. "Oh for god's sake, Matt, I knew you'd react like this! I thought we were friends because we have a laugh together, I didn't realise you only put up with me to make sure I was treating her right!"_

_"No, no, Richard, that wasn't what I meant at all," Matt had insisted, a little panicked at how the conversation was panning out. "I'm sorry, I just... I'm shocked, that's all, I thought… you seemed so happy this last week, that's all."_

_"Honestly?" Richard had sighed. "In all honesty, Matt, I haven't been happy for a while now. It's just too difficult, I can't do it anymore. I don't want to do it anymore."_

_"Do what?" Matt had asked, knowing full well what Richard was referring to, and yet somehow needing to hear it to confirm it to himself. _

_"Try and keep a relationship going from opposite sides of the world," Richard had confessed, almost sadly. "Don't get me wrong, I love Jenna, I really do, but…"_

_"But you don't love her enough to cope with spending so much time apart anymore?"_

_"Pretty much. I know, Matt, I know it sounds terrible," Richard sighed. "But it would be worse to lie to her, I've strung her along for long enough now, pretending that everything's alright. I can't pretend anymore, I'm sick of pretending. I don't want to give up my work and she doesn't want to give up hers; it's never going to get any better, we're going to be on opposite sides of the world for a whole lot longer yet if neither of us is willing to change. It's better for the both of us if we just let go now, that way we get to walk away with two years' worth of fond memories rather than keep trying to make it work for too long and ruin it all, don't you think?"_

_What on earth was he supposed to say to that? Matt had understood where Richard was coming from; it didn't mean he liked it, but he did understand. He had felt caught in the middle; trapped between two of his best friends, wanting the best for both of them and realising with a sinking feeling in his heart that simply wasn't going to be possible, not this time. _

_Richard had made his mind up, that much had been perfectly clear. Richard had made his mind up, Jenna had taken it badly and somebody needed to step in and pick up the pieces. _

_"No, no I understand, mate," Matt had assured Richard. Something within him had clicked in that moment; he had realised that although Jenna was the party who hadn't been expecting this, who had been perfectly happy up until now and was taking this sudden rejection badly, Richard was finding it just as difficult to deal with. It wasn't that he didn't love Jenna anymore, after all; he had made that perfectly clear and Matt believed him. He simply couldn't cope with the long distance nature of their relationship any longer, and if he was completely honest with himself, Matt couldn't say he really blamed him. He had lost more than one relationship himself to working in Cardiff nine months of the year. _

_"Don't worry, I'll make sure she's alright," Matt had promised, making up his mind then and there to jump straight into a taxi and head up to Cardiff the moment his plane landed back in London. "Don't feel bad, Richard, you did the right thing. Honestly. Like you said, if you're not happy anymore, it's far better to end things now than lie to Jen just to save her feelings a few weeks longer. It's not worth it, it's really not. She'll be OK."_

_"I feel so bad, Matt," Richard had sighed. "I feel awful. I planned this, you know, I knew at the beginning of Comic Con I was going to do it, but I lied to her, I just thought…"_

_"You thought it would be kinder to do it when this week was over, rather than leaving her to deal with it in front of an army of cameras and journalists?" Matt had guessed. "Don't feel guilty about that, that's the last thing you should be feeling guilty about. You didn't just get it over with, you stopped and thought about the best time to do it, why should you feel guilty about that? You did the right thing by Jenna, you really did. I'll look after her," he had promised sincerely, before pausing. "How upset was she?"_

_"She…" Richard had sighed, his voice now verging on panicked. "She didn't take it well. Stupidly, I'd… I'd assumed that it couldn't be just me who felt like this, I thought even if she wasn't at the point where she didn't want to go on anymore. But… oh she got so upset, she made me feel so guilty and I just snapped at her… _

_"I told her it was all her fault, Matt," he had confessed at last. "I told her it was all her fault because she didn't make enough effort to spend time with me, I told her if she hadn't been so obsessed with getting another job to fill the gap between Doctor Who filming and spent that time with me instead then it wouldn't have come to this. Even though I've been the one working between Belfast and the US for the best part of the last year, how hypocritical is that? I told her she was self-centred and work obsessed for doing exactly the same thing I've been doing for the past two years, it just came pouring out and I couldn't stop myself, and then she looked at me and I realised I'd pushed her too far and I just…_

_"I don't want to be with her anymore, but I don't want to lose her, you know? I want to be friends; I still like her, just not like that. But she's never going to want anything to do with me again, Matt, not after the way I treated her. I've lost her," Richard had sighed at that point, voice breaking. "I was so determined to handle it right so I didn't lose her as a friend, and I've gone and made a complete hash of it."_

_"Don't beat yourself up about it, Richard," Matt had tried carefully, not entirely sure how best to handle this. "If that's all you said to upset her, she'll forgive you; she'll appreciate it wasn't easy for you to end things with her. She'll understand once she's had a chance to calm down; she wouldn't want you to be unhappy, would she? She'd hate to think you were lying to her because you didn't want to break her heart, you know she would. You did what was best, she'll appreciate that, but give her time, yeah? Give her some time to get over it and then apologise for losing it with her, admit it was wrong of you and ask if you can still be friends. She won't want to lose you as a friend either, I'm sure she won't. It'll be OK."_

And that was how Matt had come to be standing on Jenna's doorstep that Sunday evening, having barely been back in the country 4 hours and feeling the effects not only of jetlag, but also of spending the best part of almost fourteen hours now sat down in the same position, either on an airplane or in the back of a taxi. His legs were rather stiff, though that was the least of Matt's worries. He was far too concerned about Jenna to worry about a temporary stiffness in his muscles.

He presses the intercom button again when she fails to respond; he knows she's in, he saw her car in the car park on his way in. Unless she went out for a walk… possible, Matt decides, but unlikely. Richard had given him the impression on the phone that Jenna had been completely and utterly distraught Friday evening when he had dumped her; that wasn't the sort of thing anyone could get over in less than 48 hours, it just wasn't.

After knowing her approximately a year, Matt knew Jenna well enough to know that though she could come across incredibly tough at times, things that affected her deeply, that upset her, had a startling ability to break through her strong exterior and transform her into an emotional wreck rather quickly. He had only seen her cry twice in that year, but on both occasions she had been sobbing, distraught. He didn't even want to contemplate what sort of state Richard's revelation might have rendered her in.

Of course, he's going to be confronted with it in a matter of minutes, if that; Matt knows that. And he'll deal with it when he has to. But right now, still stood outside on the doorstep, he doesn't particularly want to think about it.

Matt presses the intercom button for the third time, determined that he's going to persuade her to let him in, like it or not. "Jenna?" he calls. "Come on Jenna, I know you're in there. I'm tired, I've had a long flight and a long drive from Heathrow and I've got food and DVDs, I thought we could have a quiet film night in before you head off to York tomorrow? Please?"

No response.

"The taxi driver's gone and my car's at my flat, Jen, you're not going to leave me on your doorstep, are you? It's a hell of a walk, you know."

"You know, don't you?"

Jenna's voice takes Matt completely by surprise. A part of him hadn't been expecting her to answer, knowing how stubborn she can be; he wouldn't have put it past her to point blank refuse to acknowledge his presence on the doorstep, allow him to walk away into the night, not wanting him to see her upset, and then feel terribly guilty about it later and ring him in a state to apologise.

But that's not the only reason the mere sound of her voice causes Matt to jump. He jumps because she sounds… she sounds not quite right; that's the best way he can describe it. She sounds ghost-like, somehow, her voice faint and broken, as though she's spent the last 24 and a bit hours back in Cardiff doing rather a lot of crying and not an awful lot of anything else.

He's never heard her sound so broken and defeated before, and it's worrying him. All he wants is for her to let him in, so he hold her in his arms tightly and promise her it's all going to be alright.

He just wants to make her better, that's all he wants.

"Richard told me," Matt begins, not entirely sure how well this is going to go but not knowing quite how else to approach the subject. "He called me just before my flight yesterday… he's worried about you, Jen. He's really worried about you."

"Oh he's worried now, is he?" Jenna retorts, an angry tone to her voice Matt hasn't heard her use before; scary angry, numb, out of control, no longer caring angry. "He's sent you round to check up on me, is that it? He needs to make his damn mind up."

"No," Matt insists firmly. "No, I decided to come round, me, because I wanted to, because you sounded upset on the phone yesterday and I was worried. And I'd like to think I'm a pretty good friend, so I thought I'd come see you and make sure you're OK. So can I come in?" he asks her gently, voice softening. "Please? You can kick me out whenever you want, I don't mind. If nothing else just let me come up and leave you some food and I'll be gone, alright?"

"I can cook, you know," Jenna retorts; her tone is half-light, half-sorrowful, as though she's attempting to joke with him and not quite succeeding.

"I know you can, but you got back here yesterday, are you seriously trying to tell me you've already been food shopping? And anyway, I've got Nando's. You like Nando's," Matt points out, a little pathetically. They had all practically lived off Nando's takeaway during the filming of the Doctor Who 50th Special; he's fairly certain he's managed to remember her exact order.

He's just beginning to prepare himself for a fight when she presses the buzzer and the door clicks open.

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**Hope it was OK, please do leave me a review and let me know. Proper Matt/Jenna in the next chapter, if you guys want that is :) Two more questions for you (to be included in the next chapter along with your answers from last chapter because of the split, sorry about that). Again, this is fanfiction world, so you're making suggestions and I'll choose some to go with:**

**1) What car does Jenna drive?**

**2) Given Jenna's 'really bad taste in music' (from the BBC interview on youtube), what album would Matt lend her to widen her musical horizons? **

**xx**


	7. Chapter 7

**OK, so my merging chapters together plan has failed miserably in that I thought this scene wasn't going to be very long, and it ended up being almost 5000 words long WITHOUT the merge! So I've planned it out properly this time and the merge WILL be happening next chapter, I've planned it out properly this time. Which means your suggestions in answer to my questions at the end of chapter 5 are in this chapter, and those from the end of chapter 6 and this chapter will be in chapter 8. It's going to work, promise!**

**Thank you so much my wonderful reviewers RedAugust102, my two lovely guests, ilearnedthatfromthepizzaman, f4nta, The 23rd of November, CrazyBowtieGirl, Runyoucleverboy-remember, The Impossible Souffle Girl, zoz (my itunes library is appalling too!), Whouffle and That Little Whovian, you guys are seriously fab and this honestly wouldn't get written at half the speed it is without your reviews. If I could come and thank all of you in person, I absolutely would. I'm not entirely happy with the interaction in this chapter, so please do let me know what you think.**

**Chapter 7**

He jumps up the stairs to her flat two at a time, a part of him slightly anxious that if he takes too long arriving on the doorstep of her flat, Jenna will change her mind and refuse to let him in after all. He comes close to dropping the bag of DVDs and chocolate in the process but manages to save it just in time, slowing a little after that. His cunning plan to avoid any awkward silences (Jenna's biggest fear, which amuses him greatly) with variety of films is going to go horribly wrong if he manages to drop the bag of DVD's down the stairs.

At last he reaches the door of her flat and presses her doorbell on and off frantically, rather like an excited child on the doorstep of a favourite grandparent. Perhaps it's a gesture a little to hyperactive given Jenna's current mood and the nature of this visit, but Matt goes with it anyway, in a somewhat desperate bid to lighten her mood. If nothing else, she would know it was definitely him; Matt couldn't believe Jenna had any other visitors who attacked her doorbell quite so excitedly.

It takes her a minute or so to answer the door; Matt begins to worry that she really has changed her mind, that she'll stubbornly refuse to acknowledge his presence on her doorstep, bolt the door and refuse to let him in. What will he do then? That brief conversation over the intercom was enough to confirm to Matt that he's right to be worried about Jenna, that she hasn't taken Richard's rejection well in the slightest.

He's now worried enough that he doesn't think it's possible now for him to turn around and head back to his own flat without seeing her first, without knowing that she's alright.

He cares about her far, far too much to walk away knowing she's upset and hurting without stopping first to give her a hug.

Matt is just beginning to worry when he detects movement from the other side of Jenna's front door, and a few moments later the door swings open and they're facing each other, her head tilted upwards, his downwards, as they make eye contact with one another.

She looks awful; that's Matt's first thought. She looks awful, and he means that in the nicest possible way. To look at her, it's easy to believe she hasn't properly stopped crying since Richard dumped her; her eyes are horribly red and bloodshot, dark circles beneath them as though she's been too upset to sleep (and she probably has, Matt sighs to himself grimly). She's pale, withdrawn, hair pulled back from her makeup-free face in a messy bun, dressed in rather short pyjama shorts and an old, loose t shirt from some kind of production of a Midsummer Night's Dream: 2001. She almost looks ill, she looks broken, and yet somehow she manages to look adorably cute at the same time.

He must have stared at her a moment too long, because suddenly Jenna's blushing, looking down, wrapping her arms around herself in an embarrassed gesture.

"I know, I know, I look a mess," she mumbles, refusing to look at him. "Sorry."

"Hey, don't be stupid," Matt says softly, stepping into her flat and closing her front door behind him, placing his plastic bags down on the hall table. "You look lovely, you always look lovely."

She simply stares at him, her expression a curious mixture of doubt, amusement and embarrassment.

"You do!" Matt insists, blushing now himself, struggling to work out how he could have allowed those words to come tumbling out of his mouth. "You could never look a mess."

Perhaps that's one compliment too many, because suddenly her face falls, her eyes well up and Matt has a horrible feeling she's about to burst into tears.

"Hey, that was meant to be a compliment!" he teases her gently, before realising fast that even that tactic isn't going to work. "Oh come here." He reaches down and wraps his arms around her, enveloping her in a tight hug. Jenna stretches up to wrap her arms around his shoulders and suddenly she's clinging to him, balancing en pointe on her toes in an attempt to reach without pulling on his neck. Matt pauses for a moment, contemplating, then before Jenna has a chance to protest he slides his hands down to her waist and picks her up, throwing her over his shoulder in a single, swift movement and supporting her one-handed, picking up the plastic carrier bags from the hall table with the other hand and making his way through to her living room.

"Matt!" she protests, trying to wriggle free. "Put me down! Not funny!" But she's giggling despite everything and Matt knows he's succeeded; if nothing else, he's managed to take her mind off Richard and her heartbreak for a minute or so and make her laugh.

"I'm not joking! Put me down right now!" Jenna insists, the laughter in her voice betraying her. Only once he's cleared a space on her coffee table and placed down the plastic carrier bags does he finally let go of her, dropping her down onto the sofa. She giggles, and for a moment he forgets why he's here, forgets that she's upset and takes it too far.

"Gladly, you're heavier than you look," he teases her. And suddenly her expression turns and there's a hurt, rejected look in her eyes; she pulls herself up into a sitting position on the sofa and brings her knees up to her chest self-consciously, glaring. "Not funny," she says again, though she means it this time, that much is perfectly clear.

"Sorry," Matt murmurs, sitting down next to her a little nervously and wrapping his arm around her shoulders, a little relieved when she leans in to rest her head on his. "Sorry, I took it too far."

"It's OK," Jenna assures him, closing her eyes wearily. "It's OK, I'm just… I'm not really in the mood right now."

"It's not OK, I should have thought of that," Matt apologises, squeezing her shoulder. "I'm sorry." He pauses for a moment. "Are you in the mood for DVDs?"

She shakes her head. "Can't. Haven't got time."

"Not packed for York yet then?"

"No, I'm more or less packed. I don't know my lines for Tuesday though," she sighs, defeated, a little panicked. "I just can't get them in my head, why can't I get them in my head?"

That in itself is enough to worry Matt. Quite simply because it's so unlike Jenna; normally, she is the one who knows her lines inside out by the time the pair of them arrive on set, and he is the one sneaking a last minute glance at the script before they head off to shoot a scene. She's a perfectionist, he's realised that much in the past year of knowing her. She's an absolute perfectionist and to feel unprepared for anything, anything at all, tends to freak her out.

"Don't be stupid, of course you do," Matt assures her. "I can't believe you don't. You're just getting yourself into a panic, that's all, you do know them."

"I don't!" Jenna protests, the panic in her voice becoming increasingly evident. "I really don't! I don't know what's wrong with me, no matter what I do I just can't get them into my head…"

"I know," Matt tells her firmly. "I know what's wrong with you. You're getting yourself into a state over it, that's the problem." He picks up her script from the coffee table and throws it onto the floor his end of the sofa, safely out of Jenna's reach. "You need to forget about it for a bit, trust me. I've got food, I've got chocolate, I've got DVDs; forget about it for a while, I'll run through it with you later and I bet you anything you'll have it sorted. Honestly, Jen," he says gently, seeing the doubtful look on her face. "I promise. The worst thing you can do is keep obsessing over it, I promise if you leave it for a bit you'll find you can remember it. OK?"

"OK." She's reluctant to leave it for a while, Matt can tell, and a part of him is a little worried that this plan is going to backfire horrifically, that she'll spend the duration of whatever film they end up choosing stressing over her lines and by the time he allows her to run through them again she'll be even more stressed out about it than before.

But he has to try and distract her for a while, he's certain of that. He could backtrack and spend the next hour helping her go over her lines until she has them memorised, but he knows Jenna rather well by now; Matt is completely convinced that she already knows them, that learning them isn't the problem. She's simply allowed herself to become so stressed out over everything that this is the last straw and her brain is stubbornly refusing to cooperate.

He's hoping somewhat desperately that if he can just get her to calm down a little, to relax, suddenly she'll find her long term memory hasn't drastically reduced in capacity overnight after all.

And if that doesn't work, then he'll… Matt sighs desperately. He'll come up with a back-up plan as and when required.

Matt tips the plastic bag of DVDs out onto Jenna's lap and stands up, picking up the bag of takeaway Nando's from the table and heading towards her kitchen. "You choose the DVD, I'll sort out the food," he calls, rummaging in her kitchen cupboards. "Diet coke?"

"Just water, thanks." Her voice sounds sore, croaky, a little dehydrated as she attempts to raise it and call back to him.

"Sure?"

"Definitely."

Matt fills her a glass of water and locates the crockery, tipping the food out onto plates (he's learnt from past experience of inviting Jenna over that she's one of these peculiar people who insist on eating takeaway food off proper plates with proper cutlery). He checks the sink, opens the dishwasher, then peers into her fridge, frowning.

"You have no food in this house," he states.

"Like you said, I got back yesterday," Jenna retorts hastily. "And I'm off again for three weeks as of tomorrow, and then we're in London as far as I know. Love Actually or Sleepy Hollow?"

"You're choosing, I'll watch whatever you want to watch."

"I have chosen, I've vetoed Mamma Mia, Star Wars and Mansfield Park. You can have the final say."

"You've vetoed Mamma Mia and Star Wars but you've kept Love Actually?" Matt exclaims, feigning horror. "What's wrong with Mamma Mia, Mamma Mia's brilliant! As is Star Wars, for that matter."

Jenna rolls her eyes, accepting her plate from Matt. "Thanks. I don't understand the rest of the world's obsession with Mamma Mia, it's so corny it's just cringe-worthy. Not to mention completely over the top and unrealistic."

"Says the girl who spent three years in a soap!" Matt teases her, flopping down next to her on the sofa and balancing his plate on the edge of her coffee table.

"Oi, I didn't have an awful lot of choice, it was that or the game stalls on Blackpool Promenade. With my granddad, which, lovely as he is, wasn't exactly my first choice of career. And anyway, I had a great time!" Jenna protests; she's smiling, Matt notices, she's finally smiling. At this point in proceedings he's willing to try more or less anything to make her laugh.

"I'm sure, but how is Mamma Mia any more realistic than a soap? And anyway, who cares if it's realistic or not, it's brilliant! Proper feel-good film Mamma Mia!" He laughs, rather amused by the unimpressed look on Jenna's face. "No? Fair enough; what about Star Wars then? What's wrong with Star Wars?"

"Don't do Star Wars. Scared of Artoo Detoo."

"What?!"

"Oh come on, I was five! He's scary when you're five!"

Matt rolls his eyes, teasing her. "So you've just ruled out Mamma Mia on the ground of being unrealistic and The Empire Strikes Back for being too scary, not because of Darth Vader but because of Artoo Detoo? Good lord, remind me never to let you choose the film again!"

She slaps him playfully, sliding off the sofa and moving to insert a DVD into the player. "Right, decided, we're watching Love Actually."

Matt raises his eyebrows. "Hang on a minute, and that's completely realistic, is it? All those people just so happening to be connected and whatnot?"

"More realistic than all three of Sophie's dads rocking up on the same boat for her wedding on some remote Greek island, don't you think?"

"More realistic than having an affair with your best friend, getting pregnant by her father and murdering your fraudulent policeman boyfriend with a table leg all within the space of, what, three years?" Matt will never tell her, of course, that he's never actually watched an episode of Emmerdale in his life, that he searched for her first job on YouTube the day after she auditioned alongside him for Clara. He worries it would come across a little… a little obsessive, maybe, is that the right word?

"It was a chair leg, for your information. And shut it, you, are we watching Love Actually or not?"

She goes quiet once the film starts, curling up into the arm of the sofa and pulling her knees up to her chest, chin resting in the ridge between her knees. He watches her intently out of the corner of his eye from the other end of her sofa, studying her every move as subtly as he can manage. She's showing no signs of wanting to talk about her breaking up with Richard and Matt is reluctant to push her, knowing full well that playing his cards wrongly will only cause her to clam up even more, refuse to allow him to help her full stop.

She's struggling to hold herself together more than she's letting on, Matt is almost certain of that. And given how broken and defeated she comes across already, that worries him immensely.

Never mind not wanting to talk, she doesn't seem to want to do anything; Matt continues to watch her, concerned, as she fidgets, dropping her legs down to the floor then pulling them back up to her chest again, staring somewhere in the general direction of the television screen yet somehow looking as though she's not quite taking it in, picking apart her mango and lime chicken pita and pushing the components around her plate, almost nervously, shivering.

"You cold?"

"Hmm?" Jenna jumps, as though pulled from some sort of dream world by the sound of his voice. "Sorry, what was that?"

"Are you cold?" Matt repeats, shifting a little closer to her. "You're shivering."

"I'm fine," she insists, clearly attempting a light, care-free tone but failing rather miserably. And suddenly her mask slips and before Matt has a chance to anticipate it and do something- anything- to comfort her, her face falls and she's sobbing, having gone from holding herself together more or less to alarmingly distraught in a matter of seconds.

She takes him so by surprise that at first, Matt is at a total loss as to what to do. He's not any good with crying, he can't cope with it; on the rare occasion he's seen her cry before Matt isn't entirely convinced he's done a brilliant job of comforting her. He's no good at deep and emotional, not confident at it, at least; he's well and truly out of his comfort zone once she (or anyone else, for that matter) is past the point of being consolable with a bad joke and a smile.

And yet it's just the two of them; just he and Jenna sat side by side in her flat, and she's upset and she needs him.

He's going to have to bite the bullet and get on with it, like it or not.

"Shhh," he soothes her, reaching across to grab the box of tissues in the plastic carrier bag of chocolate and DVDs he had brought with him in anticipation of this. He presses a tissue into Jenna's hand and wraps his arms around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest.

"It's alright," he murmurs, in what he greatly hopes is at least a vaguely reassuring tone. "It's alright. It won't feel like this forever, I promise."

"I know that!" Jenna snaps through her tears, irritated, pushing him away. "I'm not stupid, I know I should snap out of this sooner or later! Sorry," she whispers, tone changing, curling up back into his chest and clinging on as though her life depends upon it. "Sorry, I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"You're forgiven," Matt promises her, reaching across to mute the television, Love Actually long forgotten. "Talk to me," he whispers, tilting her head gently until she's forced to look him in the eye. "I'm listening."

"It's my fault," Jenna whispers hopelessly, looking back down at the floor. "It's all my fault, I know it is. It's… it's just so stupid… being so ridiculous about it when I did it… to myself," she manages at last, her voice wavering, a little hysterical.

"No, no… Jenna listen," Matt tries. "Don't say that, you can't blame yourself completely, Jenna, you just can't. Why would you think it's your fault?"

"I… I should have been there more… shouldn't… so much time away from him… I should have… more of an effort… to see him!" She's properly hysterical now, gulping, refusing to meet Matt's gaze.

"Is that what he said? He didn't mean it, Jen, I really don't think he meant it, certainly not if the conversation I had with him yesterday's anything to go by. He was telling me he feels bad about it, that he snapped at you when he really shouldn't have. He doesn't blame you, Jenna, it's not your fault," he tells her again, as though hoping that if he repeats that particular mantra enough times, eventually she might start to believe it. "It's not your fault, of course it's not. If we're going to play the blame game, he's been working away just as much as you, if not more, why is it your fault you didn't see enough of each other? You can't blame yourself, you really can't. Anything he said, any excuses he made that shifted the blame onto you, you push them right out of your mind and forget about them, OK? It's not your fault, I promise. It's not your fault."

She's quite for a moment, pensive, although thankfully her sobs are beginning slowly to subside. "Matt?"

"Hmm?" He strokes her hair, squeezing her shoulder.

"If… if he did tell you something… why he… why he wanted to end things… you'd tell me if there was something that was my fault, wouldn't you? You'd tell me?" She's almost desperate.

"Of course I would," Matt soothes. "Of course I would, but there's nothing, Jen, honestly. As far as Richard's concerned it was just a case of drifting apart, not seeing enough of each other. It's not your fault," he says again, somewhat relieved when she nods, just slightly. "So you stop blaming yourself and put him out of your mind, or I'm coming to York for Death Comes to Pemberley with you to drill it into you until you're convinced, OK?"

At last, she smiles. "Speaking of which," she begins, gesturing across to where her script lies discarded on the floor beside the sofa. "Test me?"

"Now?" Matt asks, picking up her script from the floor and flicking through to find her highlights. "You don't want to leave it a bit longer?"

Jenna shakes her head firmly. "If I can do it now, I don't have to worry about it."

"Fair point," Matt agrees. "Right, well you start off hysterical, according to this; I think you've got that nailed already, maybe it would be better to just skip to the dialogue?" he jokes, relieved when she giggles a little, blushing. "Glad we're in agreement. OK… you're doing the marked scenes on Tuesday, right? OK… you're starting, 'of course'…

"Of course…" Jenna pauses, rabbit-in-the-headlights-esque for a few brief moments, and Matt has a horrible feeling she's going to freeze and forget what she's doing and the tears will start up all over again. "_Of course… of course, Mr Wickham and I will never be invited to Pemberley. Mrs Darcy is jealous of me and everyone at Meryton knows why." _And just like that she's slipped effortlessly out of her own soft Lancashire accent and into the high-and-mighty Georgian vowels of her character Lydia Wickham.

"_She was wild for Wickham when he was stationed at Meryton_ _and would have had him if she could. But he chose elsewhere- lucky me! And anyway, Elizabeth would never have taken him, not without money, but if there had been money, why, she would have been Mrs Wickham by choice! She married Darcy- a horrid, conceited, ill-tempered man- because of Pemberley and all his money, everyone at Meryton knows that too!_Right?" she asks nervously, seeking reassurance.

"Spot on," Matt tells her, throwing Jenna's script back onto her lap to allow her to check through for herself. "See, you do know it, you're fine. And you've still got tomorrow afternoon when you arrive to go through it again. You're fine, you know it," he repeats, letting out a soft sigh of relief when Jenna smiles. "So stop worrying about it, OK?"

She nods, before- to Matt's relief- stretching across to place her script at the far end of the coffee table. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He reaches across for the bag of chocolate, offering it out to her. "Chocolate? I've got crunchies, I've got chocolate buttons, I've got yorkies, green and blacks, those lindor truffle things?"

Jenna shakes her head firmly. "No thanks."

"Sure?" Matt asks, taking the box of lindor truffles out of the bag and helping himself. "Chocolate makes everything better, you know."

"I'm sure, thanks," Jenna insists, waving away the box of chocolates.

"Fair enough, all the more for me then." He nods to the television screen. "Love Actually?"

"Wouldn't hurt."

He unmutes the DVD, but his gaze remains on Jenna, watching her, concerned. "You sure you're not cold?"

She yawns, nodding slightly. "I'm fine," tries to assure him, just as another wave of shivers hits her.

He rolls his eyes light-heartedly, pulling her closer, rubbing her arms. She closes her eyes, though still tense enough for Matt to know she's awake.

She seems better; that's something, Matt tells himself. She seems happier, still far from her usual self but no longer quite the withdrawn, hopelessly unhappy wreck she had been when he arrived. She seems a little more at peace with herself, reassured at least that Richard doesn't blame her completely for their break up after all.

And yet still Matt senses that there's something not quite right, something that he can't quite put his finger on. There's something else she's not telling him regarding Richard dumping her, he's sure of it, but he's afraid that attempting to push her into telling him will only backfire. He's aware that he's been rather fortunate so far this evening; Jenna has been surprisingly willing to cooperate under the circumstances. He had anticipated having far more difficulty in getting her to talk; he's been remarkably lucky.

But she's tired, Matt's aware of that; she might be less stressed and distraught than when he first arrived on her doorstep, but she's feeling the effects of running on very little sleep rather more than before, he can tell that much from the way she's leaning against him, eyes closed, still awake, he's fairly convinced, but thoroughly exhausted. How willing to open up to him while completely shattered is somewhat debatable.

It has to be now, though, Matt realises with a sigh. If he's going to say anything, it has to be now; Jenna will be heading off to York for filming tomorrow morning and once she's gone, he won't be seeing her again until the both of them are back in London for this latest Doctor Who meets reality TV meets Britain's Got Talent thing he somehow managed to let Steven talk him into during the last day of Comic Con.

That's three and a half weeks from now.

He can't leave her to worry about whatever it is all alone for three and a half weeks.

"Jen?" Matt whispers, stroking her hair. "Jenna?"

"Hmm?" she blinks, pulling herself into a more upright position.

"You know you can tell me anything, don't you? Anything at all. I don't want you to think…" Matt pauses, not entirely sure how best to word what he has to say. "I'd hate for you to think that just because Richard and I are friends, there are things you can't tell me. I'm your friend too, that doesn't change, OK? You can tell me anything," he repeats, hoping he's somehow managed to get through to her.

"Thanks," Jenna tells him sincerely, a faint trace of a tired smile on her face. "What would I do without you?"

"You'd watch some terrible films, for a start."

She giggles.

"Jen?"

"Hmm?"

"He didn't… Richard… I mean, he didn't say anything else to you, did he? He didn't say anything else that upset you?"

Jenna shakes her head quickly, firmly. "Not besides… you know."

"OK. You'd tell me if there was something, wouldn't you?"

She flashes him a quick, forced, sleepy smile. "Course I would."

"OK." He holds her tightly as she curls back into his side, eyes closing, body relaxed. Her breathing begins to slow, levelling out as she finally allows sleep to claim her, and he pulls her down until her head is resting on his lap, squeezing her hand gently. He leans across to the box of lindor chocolates, slowly, to avoid waking her, digging around in the bottom of the box for the remaining caramel filled truffles, his attention only half on the final scenes of Love Actually. He makes a mental note to clear up before he leaves; somehow he doubts Jenna is going to be thrilled to wake up to her living room floor having become a rainbow of chocolate wrappers.

Matt waits until he's absolutely certain she's fast asleep before he wraps his arms around her, lifting her gently and carrying her through to her bedroom. He peels back the duvet and lays her down, untangling himself and tucking her in, setting her alarm clock for 8am the following morning.

He pauses for just a moment, taking her in, admiring how relaxed and peaceful she appears when fast asleep. And really rather adorable, though he'd never tell her that, of course; Jenna must never know how endearing she is when fast asleep, stretched out like a cat in the sun, nose crinkling, eyes fluttering. She's dreaming, he realises, peacefully enough to convince him it's not a nightmare. She'll be alright, Matt assures himself, she'll be fine. He can hardly stay the night, after all, that would come across more than a little interfering.

She'll be fine, of course she will. She's only broken up with her boyfriend; relationships end badly all the time and the components of former couples who emerge from the wreckage survive to tell the tale. She'll be fine.

"Night, Jen," he whispers, cocooning the duvet around her. "See you tomorrow."

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed- let me know. Some aspects of this were taken from Jenna's episode of the Nerdist podcast, and the Star Wars reference from her appearance on The Last Leg. The former is available on itunes, the latter on 4od, or there's a brief clip on daily motion. The soap of course is Emmerdale, Jenna's first job. If you haven't seen it before and you'd like to watch her highlights, murder with the chair leg included, PM me and I'll link you.**

**Three questions for you today:**

**1) what would Matt order in Starbucks?**

**2) what phone does Jenna have?**

**3) a couple of chapters ago, zoz asked me if this story was going to stick to this timeline, or jump back at times to where I left off at the end of chapter 3. Originally that wasn't my plan, but I'm starting to think actually that could work quite well. So the question is, do you guys what me to do it like that or not? Whichever way I wouldn't be revealing completely what's going on until it all ties together nicely, but how we get there is your choice :)**

**xx**

**PS knew I'd forgotten something, the italics are taken from the novel Death Comes to Pemberley by PD James, a Pride and Prejudice sequel currently being made into a television adaptation in which Jenna plays Lydia Wickham (nee Bennet).**


	8. Chapter 8

**I wasn't planning on updating this quickly, but this chapter kind of wrote itself and some of the reviews from the previous chapter were really lovely so it seemed mean to keep this from you for another day :P Thank you so so so so so much The 23rd of November (noted, thank you!), zoz, guest, That Little Whovian, Le Master Procrastinator (LOVE your name btw :P ), librarykate, DragonRose4 (was it meant to say 'type your review for this chapter here? :P ) The Impossible Souffle Girl and Guest, you guys are just fabulous, virtual Welsh cakes are currently being sent through cyberspace to you all. I honestly can't tell you how much it means to me to know you're enjoying the waffle that gets produced when I have far too much time on my hands, thank you so much. **

**PS. To CrazyBowtieGirl if you're reading this, there's a moment in here you might recognise from one of your reviews... :)**

**Chapter 8**

Jenna sleeps fitfully that night; something of an improvement on the night before, though still far from her idea of a good night's sleep. She wakes around 1am with no recollection of going to bed, thoroughly confused, a little uncertain as to where she is at first. It takes her a good minute to realise that she's back at her flat in Cardiff after a couple of months away, a further minute to recall sitting on her sofa beside Matt in front of Love Actually; that's the last thing she remembers. She must have fallen asleep on him, Jenna reasons, she must have fallen asleep on Matt towards the end of the film and presumably he was kind enough to carry her through to her bedroom rather than leaving her to sleep on the sofa for the night.

That latest realisation fills her with a fresh wave of guilt; she remembers his complaints that she's heavier than she looks when he carried her through to her living room earlier the previous evening.

And then that thought leads to others, the way bad thoughts seem to naturally progress on from one another when still half asleep, and Jenna curls up into a ball in the middle of her bed, burrows herself under the duvet and sobs. She sobs until she has no tears left to cry, cliché as it sounds, until she feels dehydrated, her eyes dry and sore, until her whole body aches and she feels completely and utterly exhausted, tired enough to give in to sleep once more.

The next time she wakes Jenna doesn't even bother to check the time on her alarm clock, just untangles herself from her duvet nest: hot, far too hot. But the cool air which surrounds her now shocks her out of her half-asleep state rather abruptly, leaving her feeling well and truly exhausted but horribly wide awake. She groans, pulling the duvet back up over herself in the hope that the warmth it brings will send her back to sleep.

It doesn't.

And so she simply lies there for what seems like hours; somewhere in the back of her mind Jenna can hear her mother's voice from long ago telling her that even if she can't sleep, lying as still as she can in a dark room with her eyes closed is going to be better than nothing.

Eventually it must have worked, because the next thing she knows she's lying sprawled out sideways across her bed, the duvet in a tangled heap on the floor and the morning sun beginning to creep slowly through the crack between her curtains. It's getting on for five thirty in the morning according to her alarm clock; she must have had a good couple of hours sleep, and yet still Jenna feels as though she's been awake and on her feet for several hours. She rolls out of bed wearily and heads for the bathroom, brushes her hair in a somewhat desperate attempt to make herself feel a little more human and composed. Is that rather ridiculous when she's planning on going straight back to sleep, provided her brain will cooperate and switch off? Most likely.

Jenna collapses back into her bed and rubs her eyes, tired, desperate to drift back to sleep. It's no good, of course; by this point her mind is so active that sleep isn't looking likely at all. Every time she closes her eyes that conversation with Richard at the airport echoes through her mind again, every time Richard's voice tells her that he doesn't want to be with her anymore because she's unattractive, because she's _fat_, because no one in their right mind would look at her twice and he doesn't know what on earth he saw in her in the first place.

Except somewhere along the line, the voice changes, and by the time Jenna is curled up at the foot of her bed, ashamed, humiliated, it's not Richard's voice taunting her in her head at all.

It's _theirs'_.

It's done something to her, this breakup, it's messed with her head in such a way that everything's become jumbled up and chaotic and she can't seem to make sense of it all again, no matter how hard she tries. Jenna remembers Richard telling her in his fit of rage that he didn't want to be with her anymore because she was fat and short and ugly among other things, she's sure she does, and yet every time she allows her mind to wander back to that horrible evening in the LAX departure lounge, somehow her brain manages to form the same association over and over again.

It's like being seventeen years old once more, seventeen years old and trapped and humiliated and hurt and struggling to see how things are ever going to get better.

And that's a place Jenna doesn't ever want to go back to.

The next time she wakes there's a loud, electronic bleeping tormenting her eardrums, the smell of peppermint in her nostrils and someone is calling her name softly, squeezing her hand.

"Jenna?"

She opens her eyes slowly, yawning, feeling a little less exhausted than she did waking up the previous morning, though still rather shattered. Someone has opened her bedroom curtains, filling the room with bright light and Jenna squeezes her eyes shut abruptly, moaning faintly at the intensity of the sun seeping through her bedroom window. Matt's voice laughs at her from her left.

"Come on you, time to wake up. It's…" Matt pauses, looking across at her alarm clock. "Just after eight. You said you wanted to be out of here by ten, right?"

Jenna nods blearily, rubbing her eyes, sitting up slowly, leaning back against the headboard. "Thanks for last night," she tells him sincerely, managing to open her eyes fully at last. "You should have just left me on the sofa you know, I wouldn't have minded."

Matt shakes his head firmly, holding out a mug of peppermint tea to her which she gratefully accepts. "Wasn't going to do that," he says. "Why would you want to wake up with horrific back ache when not necessary? I didn't mind, honestly." He pauses, ears reddening. "You're rather cute when you're asleep."

She's blushing too now; she can feel her cheeks reddening in response to what she supposes is intended to be taken as a compliment. "Thanks," she says at last, before rapidly attempting to change the subject. "So did you sleep here last night?"

"What? No, no, I went home, I just came back this morning. A few minutes ago, actually."

"Why?"

"Two reasons, actually. Primarily because I'm driving you to York."

"No you're not."

"Yes, I am, I've thought about this!" Matt insists brightly. "I'm willing to bet that you're still shattered, plus I know you well enough by now to know that you hate motorway driving with a passion, and it's a well-known fact that motorway driving while tired is hell on earth. So I'm going to drive you, and that way you can just sit back and relax. See, told you I'd thought about this!"

"No you haven't Matt," Jenna points out. "If you drive me to York, I'm stuck without a car for three weeks. Not going to work."

"That's why I'm driving your car."

"What?! No, no no no no no no not happening!"

"Why not? What's so horrifying about the thought of me driving your car?" Matt exclaims, feigning offence. "I'll have you know I'm a rather brilliant driver, Jenna Coleman, plus I have no particularly strong feelings either way regarding the motorway. Come on, you know it makes sense. And you even get to spend an extra couple of hours with me, just as an added bonus. What's not to love about that rather ingenious plan?"

Jenna rolls her eyes, laughing. "Fine, if you must. On one condition."

"And what would that be?"

"If I get a speeding ticket, you're paying the fine _and_ taking the points. No arguments."

Matt shrugs. "Fair enough, I suppose."

Jenna smiles gratefully. "Thank you," she says. "I'm sure you've got better things to be doing…"

"Nope, nothing better," Matt insists. "What could be better than spending my Monday morning on the motorway with you introducing you to one of my favourite bands of all time?"

"Oh god, what are you going to make me listen to this time?"

"That's for me to know and you to wonder."

"Matt?"

"Hmm?"

"You know you said there were two reasons you're here so early? You never told me the second."

"Ah," Matt blushes. "That may or may not have something to do with the fact that your living room floor is currently a rainbow of lindor chocolate wrappers and I need to clear them up urgently before you go into one of your obsessive tidy rants."

"Living room. Now. Go."

"Yes, boss."

Jenna emerges from her bedroom half an hour later, showered and changed and looking considerably more human thanks to the wondrous effects of make-up, to find all traces of the lindor chocolate wrapper rainbow tidied up, DVDs stacked in a neat pile on the corner of her coffee table and plates cleared away.

"Tidy enough for you?" Matt calls through from her kitchen.

"I dread to think what it looked like before, but that's much better, thank you!" She wanders through to her kitchen, following Matt's voice. "Thank you," she says again, seriously this time, finding him fumbling about in her crockery cupboard. "What are you doing?"

"Breakfast," Matt announces brightly, waving a bottle of milk in her face. "Cereal OK for you?"

"I'm alright thanks, I'm not hungry."

Matt frowns. "You have to eat, Jen," he insists.

"I know I do, I'm just not hungry."

He sighs. "Jen," Matt says gently, taking her hands in his. "You can't let him do this to you. I know what it's like, I know you don't feel like doing anything, but you can't let him get the better of you even after he's broken up with you. It'll be alright," he tells her, squeezing her hands reassuringly. "I promise. But it won't be if you let yourself fall apart. I never asked you how you slept," he realises, suddenly looking a little guilty. "How did you sleep?"

"I'm not made of glass, Matt," she tells him, but then she catches the serious look on his face and realises he isn't joking. "Better. Not brilliant, but better."

"Good." He hands her a bowl of cereal, pushing it into her hand when she tries to resist. "Eat. Please?"

An hour later she's loaded her newly packed suitcases into the back of her grey mini cooper and has handed her car keys over to Matt with only the slightest hesitation. She wanders off into Starbucks to get him a cup of tea while he fills up her car with petrol, a small gesture in an attempt to show him just how grateful she is for him taking the issue of motorway driving off her hands, for today at least. She hates driving on the motorway with a passion; too many lanes, it makes her feel nervous. Too many lanes and too many bad experiences circling the M55 junction desperately, trying and failing to leave the motorway and end up in Blackpool, not heading back in the opposite direction.

She emerges from the service station Starbucks a few minutes later, peppermint tea in one hand, chai tea latte in the other. She holds the latte out to Matt as she climbs into the passenger seat, putting down her own drink and reaching into her handbag for her purse.

"How much?" she asks.

Matt frowns at her, confused. "How much what?"

"How much was the petrol?"

Matt shakes his head. "No, don't worry about it Jen, honestly. I don't mind."

"No Matt, don't be stupid, petrol's ridiculously expensive," Jenna insists. "Come on, tell me, how much was it?"

He shakes his head again, firmer this time. "Honestly, Jenna, don't mention it. You can pay for mine next time we take my car, OK?"

She smiles gratefully. "Thank you." She hopes Matt realises she isn't just referring to him paying for her petrol.

"You're very welcome. Can you programme the sat nav?"

Matt waits until they're safely on the motorway and heading in the right direction before he takes something out of the compartment in the side of the driver's side door, fumbling with it in his lap. "Right," he announces, just as Jenna identifies it as a CD case. "Time to re-educate you."

Jenna feigns a loud, dramatic groan; it's a long-running joke between the two of them that her taste in music is somewhat atrocious. Ever since he had walked into her trailer unannounced and complained that the track which just so happened to be playing through her iPod speakers at the time was 'low level pop at its very worst', Matt had been on a mission to introduce her to 'real music'. Not that Jenna particularly minded that; she didn't have a problem at all with Matt inviting her round to be 're-educated.' She simply hated to admit to Matt that he wasn't wrong in believing his taste was, in his own words, 'pretty cool'.

"Oh god, what are you going to make me listen to this time?"

"Regina Spektor, you'll like it. Think mellow Radiohead."

"You can get music mellower than Radiohead?"

"Oi, don't knock it until you've tried it! She's great, you'll see."

Jenna goes silent, contemplating, as the music begins to play. It's finally hit her that this all ends in just a few short hours' time, that come this evening she'll be all alone again. She'll have to drop Matt at the train station and he'll disappear off into the distance, and then she'll be faced with a three week long stretch in York by herself. Normally that wouldn't bother her; normally she looks forward to starting a new job, making new friends, a new challenge professionally. But not this time. This time the thought of being alone in York for almost a month is filling her with a great deal of dread.

Jenna doesn't feel in the mood for getting to know a whole new set of people, for spending three weeks in a city in which she knows no one, no one at all. She's not sure she can even face getting to grips with a new character in front of a camera, she's not convinced she can find the energy. Then again, perhaps she won't need to, Jenna ponders numbly; 'we should all want to slap you in the face', that was what the director had told her on the phone, be as annoying and hysterical as possible.

She knows full well that if Richard is to be believed (and he isn't, she knows that deep down, but she can't quite help it), she does a rather brilliant job of that without even trying.

What she doesn't do such a brilliant job of, however, is looking the part. She doesn't look like Lydia, Jenna knows she doesn't, not the way she imagined Lydia Bennet when she read through her Death Comes to Pemberley script for the first time, let alone Pride and Prejudice, the original. There's no denying it, Lydia should be thinner, taller, prettier… more elegant… thinner. What on earth she was thinking when she auditioned for this part, let alone accepted it, she has no idea.

Jenna sighs hopelessly, throwing her head back against the headrest, hands over her face.

"You alright?" Matt frowns. "Regina isn't that bad, is she?"

"No… no, it's fine, I like it," Jenna insists. "I just… I don't know… I don't know if I can do this," she admits at last; she can detect the panic rising in her own voice.

"Jenna, don't be ridiculous, of course you can," Matt tells her gently. "You were fine last night, you knew your lines…"

"No, that's not what I mean," Jenna tries to tell him, voice wobbling. "It doesn't matter if I know the lines or not, I don't know what I'm doing, I can't do it…"

"Oh Jenna come on, you're just psyching yourself out now," Matt sighs, reaching across to hold her hand. "You can do it, of course you can. Look," he says gently, "you can't let him do this to you, Jen, you really can't."

"What makes you think it's about Richard?" Jenna retorts, a little too defensively.

"Because all last week you were so excited about doing another period drama, and now all of a sudden you're panicking about it," Matt points out. "You can't let him put you off, the moment you let him stop doing something you want to, Jenna, you're letting him beat you the minute you do that. You're going to be brilliant, I know you are. If only you give yourself a chance you're going to be just brilliant."

"What, brilliant at being an awful hysterical drama queen?" Jenna giggles, her mood suddenly lightened. "Are you trying to say I do a good line in throwing a strop?"

"No, I'm saying I bet you do a great job of acting out being an annoying hysterical drama queen and throwing a strop, there's a distinct difference," Matt laughs. "I'm saying you'll be brilliant, I'm paying you a compliment. Definitely a compliment."

"Well, thanks for that compliment, then," Jenna smiles, a little more relaxed than before.

"Jen?" Suddenly Matt's tone is serious.

"Hmm?"

"Have you spoken to your mum since you got back?" He doesn't say why he's asking; he doesn't need to, Jenna knows exactly why.

"Not yet," she admits, her tone far guiltier than she would have liked. What Jenna is determined not to let slip to Matt is that she has three missed calls from her mother already, that each and every one of them has gone to voicemail after she's sat staring numbly at her iPhone as it vibrated across the coffee table in her living room, having resolved not to answer the moment she saw 'Mum calling' light up across the screen.

She can't face speaking to her mum, she just can't. Not because she doesn't think she will understand; the opposite, in fact. She's always been close to her mum, and she knows that the moment she hears her voice on the other end of the line, her mother will know there's something wrong. It would be a matter of minutes before she extracts it from her, Jenna knows that much from past experience. And she isn't entirely convinced she wants her mum to know just yet; partly because it's another person to tell, another way in which the harsh reality of being newly single will begin to sink in, and partly because she doesn't want to be a disappointment. Her mum will never tell her so, Jenna knows that, and perhaps it won't even occur to her consciously. But she'll be a disappointment; Jenna knows she will be, she'll be a disappointment for being unable to keep a boyfriend. She knows both of her parents liked Richard, she knows they were both expecting- her whole family were expecting, for that matter- their relationship to last rather a lot longer than two years. They thought she'd settled- she thought she'd settled. Looking back, Jenna wonders if she'd even been stupid enough to tell her mother so last Christmas. Her older brother and his wife had had their first child, Mia, a year and a half ago, and Jenna knew perfectly well how happy it had made her mum and dad to see her brother settled down with a family of his own. And now she was going to have to tell them that she was rendered single, alone and unhappy at the age of twenty-seven (while she knew they wouldn't be making the comparison, a small voice in the back of Jenna's mind reminded her that her brother Ben had been married to his wife Emilie by the time he was twenty-seven).

"You need to call her, Jen," Matt tells her, his voice pulling her sharply back to reality. "You're going to have to tell her sooner or later. Sooner would probably be easier, don't you think?"

"I know, I know that really," Jenna sighs. "It's just… it's difficult. I don't… I don't want to disappoint her, I guess."

"Oh Jenna, of course you're not going to disappoint her," Matt sighs. "What on earth makes you think she's going to be disappointed? I've met your mum, she's lovely. She's not going to be disappointed, honestly. I promise. I'm sure she'll be sad for you, but she won't be disappointed, of course she won't. So don't even think about that, OK? Call her tonight, you'll see."

She's quiet for a moment, contemplating. "Not tonight," she says at last, fidgeting with her hands nervously. "Not tonight… I mean, I'll have only just arrived, and I'm on set early tomorrow, I'll need to run over my lines and work out where…"

"Jen come on, the longer you leave it that harder it's going to be to tell her," Matt points out. "Just get it over with, you'll feel much better once you've told her."

She just nods, contemplating. "OK, I'll call her tonight."

"Good." Matt pauses, silent for a few moments, Regina Spektor still playing in the background.

"You know, this music isn't that bad after all."

Matt grins. "See, told you you'd like it." He reaches into the door compartment and fishes out the CD case, passing it to her. "Mellow Radiohead; like I said, she's great."

Jenna turns the CD case over in her hands, opens it up, inspecting the album artwork. "You got it signed?"

"Um hmm. I went to the signing in London, a few years ago. She's lovely. Anyway," Matt says, changing the subject, "I've been meaning to ask, how much has Steven told you about this X Factor meets Doctor Who thing I seem to have agreed to? It was all a bit of a mad rush if I'm perfectly honest, I agreed to it a few minutes before I had to leave for the airport." He pauses. "I'm sure that was all part of Steven's grand plan, you know, to corner me when I was in a mad rush and more likely to agree with anything he suggested just so I could get away and get a move on."

Jenna laughs. "Well for starters, I think you've just hit the nail on the head there. And secondly, I don't know an awful lot either, I don't think even Steven knows an awful lot yet. It's very much still in the planning stages, I think."

"And the BBC are planning on getting this up and running by August? They need to get a move on then really, don't they."

"Probably do," Jenna agrees. "It's a last minute thing as far as I can gather, something about this year's series of Strictly falling through and needing something to replace it."

"And so they've gone with Doctor Who?"

"Well I suppose they thought we've already had Doctor Who spin off shows, a Doctor Who Prom, a Doctor Who exhibition and a Doctor Who Comic Con Panel, so why not go all the way and have a Doctor Who themed remake of Britain's Got Talent too."

"Oh, we're likening it to Britain's Got Talent rather than X Factor, are we?"

"Yep, it's classier apparently. It sounds reasonably straight forward; people audition to be a guest companion in a one off Easter special, they send in audition tapes, Steven and co sort through them and pick out the best ones, we have a couple of casting sessions and then they pick the best ones to go through to a live show type thing, and from there on in it's X Factor without the humiliation and we keep going until we've only got one left."

"And they get a part in the Easter special?"

"Exactly."

"So what happens if they're all rubbish? What happens if the Great British public vote the acting equivalent of Jedward as the grand champions?" Matt looks genuinely panicked.

"God knows, presumably Steven gets a say too. And anyway, we could get the singing equivalent of Jedward, they have to do a talent round apparently."

"Oh good lord. How on earth is Steven going to incorporate singing and whatnot into Doctor Who without turning it into a bad musical?"

She laughs. "I don't know, get Murray Gold to write something and have it playing over the end credits instead of the usual theme tune? It's not going to be a major element, from what Steven said it sounds like the BBC didn't want to lose the entertainment element of Strictly completely."

"Fair enough. So we start in August?"

"Yep. It's announced at the beginning of August, auditions are sent in throughout the month and then we get going on it properly at the end of August, beginning of September."

"So I've basically just tied myself up until Christmas, then after Christmas for filming the Easter Special, without really knowing what I was agreeing to."

"Pretty much. I'm glad you've decided to stay," Jenna tells him sincerely, reaching out to hold his hand. "I didn't want you to go, not just yet."

The time passes startlingly quickly after that. They stop for lunch and Jenna manages somehow to force herself to eat a sandwich despite not feeling particularly hungry (for Matt's sake, apart from anything else, she knows he's going to spend his train journey back to Cardiff worrying if she doesn't), then less than an hour later they arrive in York and Matt helps her carry her suitcases up to her hotel room. And then she drives him to the station, drops him outside the ticket office and hugs him tightly, never wanting to let go.

It's difficult, trying to strike a balance when she's finally forced to say goodbye to him. She doesn't want him to head back to Cardiff and leave her all alone in York for three whole weeks, but at the same time Jenna knows that if she makes her feelings too apparent, Matt is going to worry she's not coping as well in the aftermath of her breakup with Richard as she's been making out so far today. And she can't do that to him, she can't allow him to worry unnecessarily- unnecessarily, of course, because she's absolutely fine.

She's doing rather a good job of convincing even herself otherwise, but she's absolutely fine, of course she is.

She's going to have to be.

"Bye, then." Jenna feels almost numb as she reaches up to hug him tightly, clinging tightly to him as her arms snake around his neck. A part of her desperately wants to scream that she doesn't want him to go, that she can't survive three weeks all by herself feeling as she does right now and he's going to have to stay with her because she simply doesn't know how she's going to cope without him. She doesn't, of course; she makes do with the hug instead, not wanting to risk upsetting him. "I'll see you in three weeks, then."

Matt nods. "And I'll phone you before then, yeah? I haven't got much planned, just going home for a bit to catch up with everyone, so phone me any time. I mean it," he says sincerely, studying her face carefully. "Are you going to be OK?" He almost sounds a little unsure.

"Of course I will," Jenna says, smiling, trying to keep her tone as light as physically possible. "I'll be absolutely fine, don't worry. Thank you, for everything you've done, you know," she tells him. "Honestly. I really don't know what I would have done without you."

Matt tilts his head to one side, squeezing her hand. "You're very welcome. Any time."

A sudden wave of panic hits Jenna. "Your CD!" she exclaims. "Your Regina Spektor CD, I'm so sorry, I've left it in my car…"

"Don't worry," Matt tells her. "It's fine, honestly. You liked it, right? Keep it?"

"What? Oh, no, Matt, I couldn't…"

"Course you can. Keep it, seriously. I've got it on my iPod, I don't need it."

"But it's your signed copy Matt, I can't…"

"You can, honestly. It's yours, Jen. You have it."

She smiles at him gratefully. "Thank you. You really, really don't have to, you know."

"I know, but I want to." He squeezes her shoulders, pulling away at last. "I suppose I should get going," he sighs.

She cries in the car on the way back to her hotel. She cries tears she didn't even realise she had left to cry, because she feels so horribly alone all over again and she can't quite believe that he's gone. And then she cries because she doesn't know what on earth is wrong with her, because she must be a horrible, horrible person, because she can't be entirely sure but she's fairly certain she's more upset at the prospect of not seeing Matt for three whole weeks than she is about never being Richard Madden's girlfriend ever again.

She slips back into her hotel room and bolts the door, curling up in the middle of her bed and pulls her knees up to her chest, her body heaving with sobs of hurt and despair until her chest aches and her head hurts and there's a dull hunger in the pit of her stomach which she stubbornly ignores. And then she slides of the end of the bed and finds herself looking in the full-length mirror hanging on the wall, and she turns sideways and takes a long, hard look at herself. She sucks in her stomach, inspects her legs, presses her cheeks, sighing. And then she allows her mind to wander and contemplate the figure-hugging Georgian dresses she'll have to wear on set over the next three weeks in her role as Lydia and Jenna feels impossibly hopeless all over again.

Remembering her promise to Matt and desperate for something to do to take her mind off it all, Jenna rummages in her handbag and locates her phone, scrolling through her contacts. She feels a little nauseous at the sound of the dialling tone.

"Hello?" her mother Karen's voice answers. "Jenna? I tried to call you yesterday, darling, did you not get my messages? You were back yesterday, right? I know you said you were spending the weekend with Richard so I thought I'd leave it until last night… Jenna?" She must have picked up on her soft sobbing from the other end of the line, Jenna realises a little too late. "Are you OK?"

""Mum," Jenna whispers, voice breaking. "Mum, about Richard… I've got something to tell you."

* * *

**To my non British readers, 'Strictly' refers to Strictly Come Dancing, which is a television show held at the end of the year on BBC1 in which celebrities compete against each other at ballroom dancing. Youtube it if that still doesn't make sense, it's highly entertaining. **

**OK, so today's questions:**

**1) what is Jenna's middle name?**

**2) more of a challenge should you choose to accept it: any ideas for a catchy name for the, in Matt's words, 'X factor meets Doctor Who thing but classier' as explained in brief by Jenna (bonus points if you're starting to link the pieces together at this point)? I have 'Companion Quest' which sounds horrific to me but it's all I've come up with so far, so any suggestions would be fab, I'll even give you a special mention and you can give me a prompt word to be worked into an upcoming chapter as your prize :) Come on, you know you want to :P **

**Reviews would be absolutely fab, and I'll try and update again before the end of the week if you let me know what you think.**

**XX**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9- there's a lot going on in this one, this is sort of setting the scene for the action in the next few chapters if that makes sense. Thank you so much again to all you wonderful people who reviewed the last chapter, Vivaciousreader, McKenzieAnne (because tea is fab :D ), guest, Bethanria-proudwhofflepuff, malyak526, Naenae12, SaveTheDaleks and Planet of the Deaf. You are all the reason I've made it as far as chapter 9 with this fic, seriously. Thank you. You're not very imaginative though, I always thought Louise was part of Jenna's first name and she had a separate middle name :P But your wish is my command, and I have to admit it does make more sense your way. Thank you for all your support so far, you're seriously fab, all of you.**

**And an extra special thank you to McKenzieAnne who has saved the 'X factor meets Doctor Who thing but classier' from my atrocious naming skills, if you would like to leave me a prompt via review or PM for me to work into one of the next few chapters as a sort of prize, you would be very welcome :) **

**Chapter 9**

Thankfully, Jenna's mother is wonderfully calm and supportive about her daughter no longer having a boyfriend. Karen tells her daughter that it's Richard's loss, that she's better off without him if he really feels that way and she'll find someone else sooner or later and Richard will become nothing but a distant memory. Jenna wonders if her mother realises just how badly she needed to hear that.

She doesn't tell her mum everything. She's willing to confess that Richard lost it with her a little when she didn't react quite as he had anticipated to being dumped so suddenly, but divulging details as to her flaws of character and physical appearance he picked out to justify his decision is quite frankly out of the question. Partly, of course, because Jenna knows her mother will attempt to convince her that it's all complete and utter rubbish, and she isn't in the mood for pretending she believes her, pretending to agree that Richard is simply trying to upset her to make himself feel better about dumping her in the first place. Partly because of that, and partly because she knows full well that telling her mother Richard discarded her carelessly at LAX airport for being too fat and hideous and not looking right next to him is going to drag up painful memories for her, too, and she doesn't even know the half of it. Not to mention the fact that she's far too humiliated and ashamed to ever recount exactly what was said.

No longer is it because there are still seeds of doubt in the back of Jenna's mind as to whether or not Richard really did say those things, because she's been so convinced of it for the past two days that she can now hear Richard's voice listing them off in her head, clear as day, when she's alone and the demons come to taunt her. It doesn't occur to her that the wording of each and every one of his insults playing on repeat through her brain she has heard in its exact combination before, getting on for ten years ago now. She fails to realise that if only she were to calm down and stop and think about it for a while, she would recall that just a few short hours ago, before she became so totally convinced that those words were spoken aloud by him and him alone, those same words were echoing through her mind over and over again in a whole series of different voices she hasn't heard for real in a long, long time.

But Jenna doesn't stop and think. Why should she? She's so completely and utterly convinced she's right by now that it doesn't even cross her mind that she might possibly have gotten this wrong. Besides, why would she be wrong about this? She remembers what Richard said; only too well in fact, she can't get it out of her head. She remembers his every word with startling accuracy.

Doesn't she?

She survives the next three weeks. Later, when she thinks back on this lonely period in the aftermath of her breakup with Richard, Jenna will struggle to work out exactly how she manages it, but somehow she survives. She's so tired that night after speaking to her mum that she collapses straight into bed and has the best nights' sleep she's managed in a long, long time, out of pure exhaustion rather than anything else. She's perfectly used to sleeping alone; thanks to her and Richard's relationship having been predominantly long distance, despite having had a boyfriend for the last two years Jenna is convinced she's most likely only spent just over a months' worth of nights sharing a bed. And yet still, for reasons she can't quite explain, her bed feels horribly cold and empty and vast.

Thanks to that better sleep Jenna makes it onto set for her first day filming Death Come to Pemberley looking much more like her usual self, despite the fact that inside she's never felt so hopeless and alone. She puts on a façade in order to avoid anyone asking her if there's something wrong, and it must be rather effective because she manages to avoid such questions for the entire three weeks she's in York, despite being constantly surrounded by a sea of people on set.

It should make her feel better; Jenna knows that really, so much so that she feels incredibly selfish when it doesn't. It should make her feel better; it's what she wanted, after all. Will nothing ever make her happy?

But it doesn't. Having nobody care enough to notice there's something wrong, whether she makes it easy for them or not, for three long weeks, only makes Jenna feel ten times worse.

And then there's the costume issue; the fact that she has to spend twelve hours a day in full costume, which for the part of Lydia involves elaborate late Georgian period dresses.

She loathes the way they look on her. The dresses themselves are exquisite, but she does them no favours whatsoever; Jenna is well and truly convinced the costume designer must hate her for rendering his works of art so ugly. They look beautiful on the hanger in her dressing room, but the moment she has them on her own flaws in her appearance become all she can see and ruin the elegance of her costume altogether.

She doesn't look right in them, she just doesn't look right.

She looks too short and childish in the flat ballet-slipper type shoes of the early 19th century. Looking at herself wearing them in the mirror makes her recall with some embarrassment her initial audition for what became her second acting job, Waterloo Road, at which she went for the role of a teacher and was informed it would be out of the question, despite a good audition, because at the grand old age of twenty two she still looked about twelve and would she be interested in playing a pupil instead?

Lydia's floor-length gowns conceal her legs, which she's suddenly grown conscious of since that Friday evening at LAX airport, but, to Jenna, it seems to cling to her torso in all the wrong places, making her feel horribly psychologically uncomfortable. She fidgets in between takes, pulling at her dress, smoothing the fabric, not entirely sure what she's hoping to achieve in order to make herself feel just a little less self-conscious.

Whatever it is, it doesn't work.

Nothing works.

Jenna doesn't understand; she just doesn't understand. It's as though there's something possessing her, as though something has found its way into her head and is on a mission, determined to torment her and drive her slowly but surely to breaking point, no matter what it takes. She's felt like this before, of course, a long time ago, but she doesn't remember these feelings being half as intense and overwhelming at seventeen years old. Or at thirteen, now she comes to think about it. This time, they simply won't leave her alone, no matter how hard she fights to push them out of her mind and away into dust.

A week or so into filming, Jenna makes a terrible mistake and breaks her trashy magazine ban (in the vain hope it might lighten her mood, normally she steers clear of the damned things) and finds herself staring at a double page spread of pictures of herself in full Lydia costume. She's horrified. The print alongside the pictures is all about how much period drama suits her, how pretty she looks, but somehow her brain refuses stubbornly to process that part. She's fooling no one, she's managed to convince herself of that. They were right, all of them, they were right before and they're right now. No matter what the magazine article says, all Jenna can see is a fat, ugly pig in a beautiful white Georgian gown, trying to be something she's not.

_Pig…_ her brain begins to make the association.

_Stop. Stop right there, Jenna, just stop. Don't even go there._

She starts signing herself in and out of her hotel as 'Louise' after that, hoping it will be enough to keep the damned paparazzi away from her.

The following day she gets a text from Matt: 'nice dress Coleman ;P'. Her brain is so scrambled, she's so confused, that she can't work out whether he's laughing at how fat and hideous she looks in those awful photos or not, and she's become far too shy by now to even dare to ask.

He wouldn't understand. No one understands.

And so she struggles her way through those long three weeks god only knows how, telling herself rather desperately that she won't feel like this forever. Like always, her mother is right; once Death Comes to Pemberley is over and she's back in London, she'll be more settled, she'll be over Richard and she'll find someone else, the one she's meant to be with, and all of this heartache and rejection will be long forgotten. Of course she will.

The trouble is, Jenna realises roughly halfway through those three weeks of filming in York, the aching in her heart is the least of her problems. Finding herself another boyfriend might make her family happy, but it's not going to make her any happier. It's not going to take away the resentful, hopeless feeling she now experiences each and every time she studies herself in a mirror, it's not going to change the fact that something's happening to her that she doesn't understand, and she's scared.

She's scared that it's never going to leave her alone, that she's never going to feel normal ever again.

She doesn't want to be scared any longer, she doesn't want to spend another second feeling this worthless and ashamed, too ashamed to tell anyone, even her mum, even Matt, even her best friend Lucia how she's feeling.

And so, all alone in her hotel room in York, Jenna does the only thing she can think of that might possibly make her feel better.

She's got to be positive about this, she decides. Up until recently she's always been very much an optimist; she's going to have to revert back to that way of thinking if she wants to free herself for good from these feelings of hopelessness and despair.

She can do it, of course she can. All she has to do is make a list of all her flaws, amend them and cross them off the list one by one until she's fixed herself for good, how difficult can that be?

There are some things that Jenna can't do anything about, of course. Her height, namely; as much as she would love to, she sadly lacks the ability to add an extra few inches to her legs. Her ability to be horribly quiet and shy amongst a group of new people she isn't familiar with is also a difficult one to do much about. She tries, she really does, on the set of Death Comes To Pemberley, but she feels so self-conscious. She wonders if it's linked to how low her opinion of herself is at present. Most likely.

Her weight, however, is something she can do something about, willpower permitting. She resolves to start with that particular flaw with an alarming air of calmness. When you feel as though you've got nothing left, it's relatively easy to be calm.

Somehow Jenna manages to struggle her way through those long three weeks in York, and when her scenes are filmed and done with on the final Saturday she packs up her things and heads back to Cardiff, via Leeds to visit her friend Charley with whom she spent three and a half years on her first job, Emmerdale. Charley is still living in Leeds and still working on the ITV soap, which means the pair of them rarely get a chance to catch up. It's rather refreshing to see someone she hasn't in a while; Jenna finds that just for an hour or so, sat in a Leeds coffee shop with Charley, she doesn't feel quite as self-conscious as she has for the past three weeks on set in York. She almost doesn't want to leave come late afternoon and head back to Cardiff to pack up for moving back to London until December, knowing full well that once she's out of Leeds and back to reality, the effect Leeds and Charley have had, taking the edge off her emotional torment, are no longer going to be felt.

The next few weeks are going to be rather stressful, Jenna knows that much already. The Doctor Who meets Britain's Got Talent/X Factor one off guest star talent show thing (she's given up trying to sum it up in a considerably less complicated manner), now named 'Who's Companion', is being launched the following Monday, then she's back to Cardiff for two weeks for rapid fire filming of the Doctor Who Christmas Special. Then she'll be packing up and moving back in with her London flatmates until December for the auditions and live shows, then she has a couple of weeks off for Christmas and back into the Cardiff studio come January to film the Easter Special.

Under normal circumstances, that's the sort of hectic schedule Jenna thrives upon, but on the motorway back down to Cardiff she doesn't feel as though she's going to be able to find the energy.

She's not entirely sure what's happening to her, but she doesn't like it, she doesn't like it any more than the hopeless, desperate feeling she experiences when she steps onto the bathroom scales when she arrives back at her Cardiff flat that night. It's a matter of which is the lesser of the evils; which one she can live with more than the other.

Jenna choses the lowered energy levels as the lesser.

Come Monday she's back on set to film the Doctor Who Christmas special with Matt, more than a little relieved that this is no longer going to be his final episode. He's going to leave her eventually, Jenna knows that; she's under no illusions. But right now, her confidence is just about at rock bottom, and Matt Smith is one of the few people she truly feels comfortable around.

She needs him. She needs him more than he'll ever know.

Her façade is so beautifully perfected by now that Matt doesn't seem to notice she's falling to pieces inside. In fact, when the two of them go out for dinner together in Cardiff Bay towards the end of filming, a few days before they're due to head to London for the final stages of filming and the casting rounds of Who's Companion, he tells her, utterly serious, that she seems an awful lot better, that he's so glad she's managed to push Richard out of her mind and get on with her life.

"I was worried about you for a while, Jen," Matt admits, holding her hand across the table. "I almost started to wonder if I was doing the right thing, leaving you in York. But you seem a lot better," he smiles, and Jenna nods, hoping to convince him, because it's just too painful and humiliating to keep talking about it any longer. "Good. I'm glad," he says, squeezing her hand. He doesn't seem to notice that she manages to tactically arrange the majority of her salad in her bowl to make it appear as though she's eaten far more than she really has; the perfect optical illusion.

Steven explains to them what their first role for Who's Companion will be two days before they move back to London until December. They're not needed until the last week of August, giving them just over a week off before they're back to work. By then the casting directors will have narrowed the number of hopefuls down to a more manageable number (all done through video auditions sent in by email, they have been assured, no humiliating auditions in front of a live audience) and they'll be called in for a three day acting workshop, from which sixteen will be chosen to go through to live shows.

It's not going to be that bad, Jenna decides, it could have been an awful lot worse. She's never been a huge fan of this type of television programme in the past, mostly because of the humiliation for entertainment element during the audition stages. So much so that when she was first approached about doing this, she had insisted that she wasn't getting involved if that was the case. She's still not completely convinced she agrees with the ethics of the whole thing, partly due to the decision to have no lower age limit (it's only a one off, the production team had said, they are not and will not be assigning a child actor to the permanent cast roll for more than a one off, besides, who can guarantee that someone under sixteen is going to win anyway?) and the live show rehearsal timetable which greatly resembles her old Emmerdale filming schedule; something she loved the intensity of at the time, but wouldn't wish on anyone unsuspecting.

But it's going to be fine, she tells herself. There are four of them doing it, established cast: herself, Matt, David and Billie. As far as Jenna can gather they are each going to be assigned four of the actors/performers/whatever they're calling them who make it through to the live shows to do scenes with, but also to keep an eye on, to check that they're coping with the pressure. Jenna just hopes that particular part of the job description doesn't go both ways.

They're given a DVD of the auditions for the potentials through to the casting workshop- no pressure, they're told, just to get a feel for it if they want to, if they find some time over that week and a bit off work to relocate back to London and catch up with everything they're behind on thanks to their intense filming schedule over the past two weeks. Jenna throws it into her bag and thinks very little about it as she packs up her things in her Cardiff flat, trying to work out what she really needs to take back to London with her and what can stay behind. She'll be moving back into the flat she shares with three of her best friends from school in London; her bedroom there is big enough but there's an awful lot of general household clutter scattered around her home in Cardiff Jenna decides she can leave behind for four months. Over the last year or so she's become rather an expert at this living out of a suitcase lark.

It's only when she glances at her wall calendar quickly on her way out of the door with the second of her suitcases, just to be sure that there's nothing she's forgotten to transfer into her phone calendar, that it finally clicks.

Jenna drops her suitcase, frowning, studying August intently. Surely… no, that can't be right. She's been all over the place, admittedly; she's hardly known whether she's coming or going since Richard dumped her and the whole world fell swiftly apart. But surely she hasn't been so out of touch with reality that she's failed to notice something like this, has she? Surely not.

A little frantically, Jenna pulls her phone out of her pocket and begins flicking through the month of July on her phone calendar; she was living out of a suitcase for most of July, she would have kept track of this on her phone calendar, if anywhere. It was towards the end of July that Richard dumped her, she remembers; if this had been happening in July she would have noticed, she would have realised something was wrong…

Damn. Except she was so busy, Jenna remembers, July had been so busy what with Comic Con and all that came with it and rushing about from one interview to another…

Jenna checks her calendar again, groaning, a little horrified with herself, with her own stupidity. She was in a mad rush, a mad rush between various different elements of Comic Con, and then the whole world fell apart and she must have just blindly noted it all down on autopilot without stopping even a moment to actually think… oh god.

She's almost a little scared as she begins to count the weeks on her calendar, groaning, unable to quite accept how stupid she's been. Perhaps it's not as bad as she thinks, Jenna tries to tell herself while still in the process of doing the maths, perhaps it's just a minor inconsistency, easily explained away as just one of those things. Perhaps it's all perfectly innocent and next month everything will all go back to normal and she'll be able to stop worrying…

She finishes counting through the weeks since everything was last normal and groans, realising that no amount of trying to rationalise this is ever going to disguise the fact that there's clearly something very wrong.

"Shit," Jenna breathes, her heart sinking. And just when she thought life couldn't treat her any more cruelly, too. "Oh shit."

She's got to be calm about this, she decides. She's managed to be calm enough about the amount of weight she wants to lose- no, not wants, _needs_ to lose- over the past few weeks, and now she's just going to have to be calm about this, too.

Don't think about it, she tells herself firmly. It'll be fine. She's got to get herself back to London first, and then she can visit the walk-in centre tomorrow and see a doctor, take it from there. It'll be fine, of course it will. It'll be absolutely fine, as long as she keeps calm and rational. It will, it really will. Of course it will.

And so, with a calm, collected façade but a heart racing at a rate of knots, Jenna picks up the last of her suitcases and locks up her Cardiff flat, leaving those god-awful pictures of the fat, ugly pig in the Georgian gown she's ashamed to even look at behind her on her kitchen table.

_Pig… fat pig…_

And just like that, that god-awful word association starts up in her head all over again, taking Jenna back to a place she'd really rather not go.

* * *

**Hope it was OK. I know what you're thinking right now and you're most likely wrong, leave your thoughts via review if you think you know where I'm going with this ;) **

**I have to make a terrible confession at this point and admit that I'm updating sooner than I'd planned because the rest of this week is going to be probably the most stressful of my life so far, I'm a nervous wreck and you guys and your wonderful reviews never fail to make me smile, however long or short. A horribly obvious hint I know, but especially this update, reviews would mean the absolute world and really cheer me up, and happy non-stressed writers finish chapters much quicker :P If we could get to 100 that would be amazing and would guarantee an immediate update. Thank you.**

**Emeline x**

**PS. What car does Matt drive? And if you dance (or if you don't), what is Jenna's favourite dance move?**


	10. Chapter 10

**Oh my goodness you guys are pretty brilliant to have around in times of need. Honestly, thank you so much all of you for your wonderful reviews, I am so, so grateful and I truly can't thank you enough. I'm sorry for the delay uploading this next chapter, I know I promised to update as soon as it hit 100 reviews but hear me out, when I went to sleep last night just after I uploaded it was on 87, and I woke up this morning to 106. Seriously, thank you so, so much. So I've been working on this chapter today, it's now 5pm my time and this is quite literally hot off the press. Huge cyber hugs to Mooncheesy, The 23rd of November, f4nta, guest (aww thank you!), gallifreyirishrose (thank you so much, honestly), guest, guest, Me, CrazyBowtieGirl (do NOT feel bad, you have no reason to!), theatrejane(that's my back up plan in case I don't get a university place, we'll see!), emlouwor910, Percabeth 310, Lilliascraven (haha don't worry!), librarykate (oh there's lots about the voices to come ;) and there will be a full explanation), McKenzieAnne (firstly, I love the sound of that dress, secondly, I love starbucks coffee as well as the tea, and thirdly hope your block goes soon), zoz, guest, guest, RedAugust102, bethanria-proudwhofflepuff (thank you so much, honestly), and Excellent, I seriously can't thank you lot enough. You've made today a whole lot better and I'm so grateful. **

**I do have a confession to make: the questions at the end of last chapter were meant to be the ones at the end of this one, not chapter 9- oops! Can you tell I'm a bit stressed? :P So we'll get to those next chapter, which will be coming soon if you leave such lovely reviews again, hint hint :P**

**One last thing, you might want to go back and reread from the calendar part of chapter 9 before you read this one. I don't think I ever actually said her periods had stopped... ;) **

**Amendment: theatrejane I am very very sorry, somehow your name disappeared off the original thank you list. No idea how that happened but you have now been added on, sorry about that!**

**Chapter 10**

She'd had plans for that week and a bit off work. It was her first proper week back in London in over two months, after all, the first week since forever in which she wasn't having to think about packing for wherever she was off to next. She had made plans: she was going to spend the weekend catching up with her flatmates (and confess that she and Richard were no longer together, of course; she'd put off doing it over the phone, had still found it so painful to even think about that she didn't even know where to begin), unpack and settle in during the week given she was going to be there for the long haul this time, watch the selected highlights of the Who's Companion audition DVD if she found the time, maybe even make it up to Blackpool for a couple of days to visit her family. If she could persuade one of her flatmates to take a day off they could have gone out for the day, spent some time together before she was thrown back into the whirlwind of working long hours again and only saw them late at night or at the weekends (and she wouldn't even have much in the way of time then once live shows started), roll back the carpet in her bedroom and dance.

She had always wanted to be a dancer as a child; a ballerina, specifically, there was no money in American rhythmic-style contemporary dance unless you wanted to teach, that was what her old dance teacher in Blackpool had told her. And so she had set her heart on being a ballerina, until, that was, the director at the Royal Ballet School Mid-Associates Manchester venue had put a stop to that one when she was thirteen years old and she had moved onto acting. Nowadays dancing was strictly for pleasure, in her bedroom, door shut, no one to watch her, whenever it could be fitted into her schedule. A few weekdays off, during which her flatmates would be at work, would have been perfect.

As it is, however, things don't exactly go according to plan.

As it is, Jenna ends up spending the first three days of her week and a half off being shuffled from NHS walk-in centre to private hospital to specialist consultant to MRI scanner and back again, all of them refusing to tell her what's wrong until they've run some more tests, 'just to be sure'. That irritates her more than it offers reassurance; she doesn't want them to tread carefully around her. She's not naïve.

Jenna doesn't need to be a gynaecologist to know there's nothing remotely normal about five separate periods in the space of eight weeks.

She's her own worst enemy; she breaks her Google ban and looks up the symptoms, along with any medical jargon she's managed to pick out from reading her file upside down across her consultant's table. The NHS website brings up three potential causes; all of them essentially the same thing in different locations. It makes her feel ill. That Google search confirms it to her, no doubt in her mind: there's a bloody great mass of cells growing at an out-of-control rate somewhere inside her body and the only questions that remain are where is it and what can be done about it.

She sounds relatively calm and rational about it when she lays out the facts like that, but the truth is that in her heart, Jenna doesn't feel the slightest little bit calm and rational at all.

She wants to scream. She wants to scream and scream and scream until someone offers her a magic cure, or alternatively, until someone announces that there's been a terrible mistake and in fact these last few weeks, everything from the moment Richard Madden dumped her at LAX airport up until right now this very second, was never meant to happen, that there's been a mix up and she's been living someone else's life for them, and now the mistake has been discovered it can be corrected and everything can go back to exactly how it was before.

That's never going to happen of course, but hey, she can dream, and just for a while in those wonderful moments of complete and utter denial, it makes her feel better.

On the fourth day, Jenna gets a diagnosis. She had expected it to make her feel better, finally knowing what's wrong with her, but if anything it only makes her feel worse. Suddenly her head is swimming with it all, information overload; it's all too much to process and even all her hours poring over NHS online at the treatments for her shortlist of three potential causes have failed to prepare her. She can't concentrate; her consultant suggests to her that she brings someone close to her along with her to these appointments in future- is there anyone?

Jenna gives it a few moments' thought. There's her mother, the rest of her family, but they're all over three hours away up in Blackpool and she doesn't want to force them to come down, especially not over something like this. There are her flatmates, but they're all working this week, and besides, they are unlikely to want to sit through an in-depth discussion as to the various ins and outs and current malfunctions of her reproductive system. Ditto Matt; that would be horrifically embarrassing, Jenna doesn't even want to imagine how on earth she would go about posing that particular question.

She doesn't want to ask anyone for help, she's far too ashamed to do that for reasons she can't quite explain. And if that means she's going to have to write down every single word her consultant utters in order to attempt to process it later on, by herself, when her heart has ceased racing unnaturally fast, then so be it.

At least they've caught it early; her consultant tells her, in what Jenna assumes is intended to be a reassuring tone. It's still stage one, still isolated, which means it can be treated quite easily with surgery, no more treatment needed once it's been removed. The only issue is, the surgeon begins, but Jenna waves him off. She already knows, she's done enough research of all three types of this illness to know that this particular outcome was almost inevitable. She's far from accepted it- she's sure that will come later- but for now, she knows it's what she has to do. It's not the only option, but it's the only one that guarantees to banish it all from her body.

Go with the treatment without the surgery and there's a chance it might not work, that it might spread, not to mention it will be months of suffering and feeling like shit, impossible to hide from anyone at all.

Go with the surgery and her chances of being able to do something she's always taken for granted, something she's always wanted, will be well and truly gone, no question about it. That particular dream will be ruled out in one swift stroke of her surgeon's knife, and Jenna will be left to cope with the aftermath.

But at least with the surgery, she'll be guaranteed to get better. Her life as it is at present won't change once she's recovered from the operation, it'll be her future that's altered forever.

Given that she's currently struggling to think any further ahead than getting through the day without anyone suspecting she's not quite as fine as she makes out, however, Jenna is fairly sure that at least for the moment, she can live with that.

And so when her consultant suggests she goes home and has a think about what she wants to do, given her age, Jenna stops him in his tracks and shakes her head firmly.

"Just take it out," she says, imagining this is all just a part in a production of some sort and there's a camera crew recording her, because she's not stupid; she knows full well that unless she plays this part incredibly well and convinces her consultant that she's thought this all through already and she's perfectly calm and accepting of what is going to happen to her and has come to this decision completely soundly and rationally, he is never going to agree to the surgery right now this very minute, he's going to make her go home and pretend to think about it first.

"Just take it out," she repeats, calmly as she can. "I've thought about this. It's the only way, isn't it, the only way to guarantee it's gone for good?" She waits until her consultant nods. "Then do it. Just do it. I've decided."

"And you're sure you've fully considered that if you go through with this you'll be unable to…"

"Yep, thought about it," Jenna insists. "It's fine, I'm fine with it. I'd rather just get it out and know I'm going to be OK." Then she pauses, thinking. "So how long do I have to wait?"

She's not exactly expecting 'this coming Monday' to be the consultant's response.

It's going to take some careful planning, Jenna realises on the way home a couple of hours later, a handful of information leaflets stuffed into the bottom of her handbag where she can pretend they're not there, just until she's alone in her room, confident that her flatmates are all otherwise engaged and there's no danger of them walking in and asking her what they are. It's going to take some incredibly careful consideration if she wants to ensure this pans out the way she wants it to, and she hasn't got an awful lot of time to come up with a plan.

She's not telling anyone. Absolutely not, she refuses. There is no way Jenna is telling a single soul the real reason she's going into hospital on Monday, no way in hell. She feels like she's failed, knowing what's going to happen to her; she feels like she's failed in the most humiliating way possible and the whole world would agree with her if only they knew. Maybe they wouldn't say as much, but they would, they'd view her as a failure, they'd pity her, and she doesn't want their pity.

Jenna can't even find the words to tell her mum. She doesn't want to upset her, that's the root of it. She doesn't want to upset her mum and she doesn't want to worry her, she doesn't want to make her feel as though she has no choice but to come down for a few days and look after her.

She doesn't need looking after; she doesn't deserve it. It's going to be better for everyone if she just keeps quiet and deals with it all on her own.

The tricky part is what to tell her flatmates. It's easier with her mum and dad; she can set the scene a bit on Sunday night, make out that she's going to have a busy few days and not to worry if she doesn't call, if she doesn't answer her phone. They're used to that after eight years of her working as an actress, that in itself is certainly not going to be enough to worry them. And it's not even a lie, not completely, anyway; she really _is_ going to be busy by the end of the week- she's expected in the BBC London studios for the casting workshop for Who's Companion Friday to Sunday.

How on earth she's going to manage to struggle her way through that one four days after surgery is still a working progress.

She ends up telling her flatmates she's having a myomectomy. She's researched it carefully; a myomectomy would involve making an incision in the same place as the surgery she's really having, but is far, far less serious in the general scheme of things. She rehearses how she's going to explain it alone in her room, running it off as though she's practising lines for work. She's having a myomectomy on Monday, she tells them, and she doesn't want them to worry because she's fine, it's no big deal. She must have been fairly convincing, because they don't seem particularly suspicious.

"But you're twenty-seven!" Becky, her flatmate exclaims, a little horrified. "I thought people didn't get fibroids until their forties, at least!" And then she must realise her reaction isn't particularly helpful, because she moves over to hug her and tells her she's so sorry, that if there's anything she needs she only has to ask.

She has a minor panic when they start talking about visiting her in hospital, but her latest Google search informs her that it's not uncommon for patients having the type of surgery she's really having and those in for a myomectomy ending up in the same part of a hospital. She's just going to have to be careful about what's mentioned around them, hope and pray that none of them have enough medical knowledge to work out that she hasn't quite told them the truth.

"Is your mum coming down?" Kate asks her over dinner. Kate, Becky and Gemma are having dinner, at least; Jenna has told them that she's been invited round to Steven's for dinner to discuss the ins and outs of the weekend casting workshop, is currently sat at the table with them with a diet coke.

That could potentially have been a problem; although Jenna's mother and her flatmates aren't close exactly, they do get on well. Fortunately, Jenna has planned for this, rehearsed it. She's perfectly prepared.

"I…" she begins, biting her lip in an attempt to make this seem a little more believable, well and truly getting herself into character. "I haven't told her yet. I will!" she says quickly, seeing the looks on her flatmates' faces. Of course I will. But now really isn't the right time, she's quite stressed at the moment; I don't want to worry her when it's a straightforward enough procedure. If I tell her, she's going to feel like she has to come down, and there's really no need, I'll be fine. It's not really any more evasive than keyhole surgery," Jenna insists, forcing a smile. "Honestly, no big deal. I'll be fine, I'll get it over with, and then I'll tell her when there's nothing to worry about anymore."

"And you're sure she's not going to be upset that you didn't tell her before?" Gemma asks cautiously.

Jenna nods. "She might be a little, I guess, but I'll just pick the right moment to tell her. It'll be fine, it's better this way." She checks her watch, still playing the part. "I've got to go."

"To meet Steven?" Kate asks. "You're going to tell him you're not going to be able to work next weekend, right?"

"Nope, I'll be fine by next weekend."

"Jen!" Becky groans. "Jen, you're having surgery on Monday, for goodness' sake, you can't guarantee you'll be fine in time for Friday…"

"It's only minor, though," Jenna points out, lying through her teeth (no, not lying, she tells herself, she's just acting). "I'll be fine. OK, OK," she sighs, giving in. "I'll warn him I might not be up to it, but I'm not telling him I'm definitely not doing it, not yet."

"Jen?" Gemma calls after her as she grabs her bag and heads for the door. "Jenna, you know you can talk to us about it, right? I'm here for you, we all are."

"I know," Jenna smiles brightly, only hoping she doesn't come across a little too forced. "Thank you, but don't worry. I'm fine."

She's almost robotic as she enters the lift and heads down to the ground floor, wanders through the car park to her car and drives off into the night. She drives around aimlessly for a while, not quite sure where she's heading, before finally pulling up and parking down a quiet alley a few miles from her flat. She sighs, leaning back against her seat heavily.

_This is getting ridiculous, Jenna. Going to these lengths to avoid making it obvious you're not having dinner is just plain ridiculous._

Maybe she should just tell them. Maybe she should just be honest and tell Becky and Gemma and Kate she's not bothering with dinner for the foreseeable future unless absolutely unavoidable, because her now-ex boyfriend listed her being fat as a reason for breaking up with her and then she accidently stumbled across some well and truly awful pictures of herself in full Lydia Bennet attire and realised he was right, that she really did resemble a fat, ugly pi…

_Don't even go there; don't even let that word enter your head. Haven't you learnt by now what happens as soon as you do?_

Maybe she should tell them now that she wishes she'd confided in them before, back when they were all still at school together. Maybe she should tell them that if she could have one wish, just one, it wouldn't be for Richard to take her back. Nor would it be for the mass of cells growing inside her to disappear all on its own, no surgery needed.

That one wish would be to go back to when it all started in their Upper Sixth year, and somehow find the words to tell Becky, Gemma and Kate what was going on. They would have helped her; they would have done something about it, even if they thought it was true. Of course they would have done, they were her best friends. They still are. They would have put a stop to it all for her and that would have been the end of that.

Because the truth is, that is the part of it all that's killing Jenna the most; knowing that she could have stopped this. Granted, there's nothing she could ever have done to prevent the bloody illness, but she could have stopped her brain turning against her so horribly now, if only she'd done something about it back then when she was seventeen.

She could have stopped this. But she was too humiliated and ashamed; she was too ashamed then and she's certainly too ashamed now.

There's nothing else for it. She's just going to have to struggle on by herself and wait for it to get better. Because it will get better, of course it will.

It has to.

She can't go on like this forever.

Jenna takes a few minutes to compose herself before she digs her mobile out of her bag, scrolling through her contacts.

Calling Steven Moffat, her phone screen displays, the harsh light it gives off horribly bright in the dark of the night.

It takes him rather a long time to pick up, and when at last he does, Steven sounds distracted. "Hi Jenna," his voice calls from the other end of the phone.

"Hi." She's suddenly all hesitant now she's got him on the phone; this must have been what Richard meant when he told her she had a nasty habit of freezing when socially uncomfortable.

She must have hesitated a little too long, because Steven continues "is this urgent?" he asks. "Sorry, it's just I've got Mark round running through some Sherlock scripts…"

"No, no, it's fine," Jenna insists quickly, only hoping she manages to keep her tone light enough to carry it off. "It's nothing important, don't worry. I'll see you on Friday, yeah? Bye."

Well, she tried, Jenna tells herself later, back home after killing another few hours sat in her car in the dark with her copy of Rebecca, one of her favourite books to date. She tried to tell him she might not be up to coming to the casting workshop on Friday, but he was busy. Maybe she was being lazy to think of trying to wriggle a day off out of him anyway.

Monday comes around scarily quickly. Jenna allows Becky to take the morning off work to drive her to the hospital, knowing full well she won't be able to drive for three weeks after the operation (officially, at least; she's told her flatmates one to two weeks because when she looked up the recovery time after a myomectomy she realised it wasn't quite the same as what she's really having done), but she refuses to allow her to stay. Partly because she knows Becky will most likely catch on and realise she hasn't been entirely honest with her if she's let anywhere near the surgeon, and partly because she simply doesn't want the fuss. She'll be fine, she tells Becky at the hospital entrance, she'll have to stay in overnight but she'll probably be discharged tomorrow (a three to five day hospital stay is recommended, but she doesn't tell Becky that) so she and Gemma and Kate shouldn't bother coming to see her tonight, just wait until tomorrow, and if one of them wouldn't mind coming to pick her up when she calls that would be great.

The only minor flaw to her otherwise perfect plan is that Jenna had simply failed to take into account just how awful she would feel when she came round after the operation.

She wakes up completely disorientated Monday afternoon, not the faintest idea where she is or what's happened. All she knows is that she's in a bright, clinical room, and it feels as though her insides have been ripped out.

It takes her a good few minutes to come round enough to remember that actually, some of them really have.

The operation was a success, the surgeon tells her afterwards. It went exactly according to plan; it was all isolated, as they had suspected, nothing had leaked out into her lymph nodes. It's all been removed, all out of her system, no further treatment necessary.

At least one thing in life is going her way.

She's in absolute agony that night. She refuses to be put on the stronger painkillers offered to her at first; Jenna's thought about this, she knows she can't leave hospital on the strongest medication, which is going to scupper her plan of being discharged tomorrow afternoon rather spectacularly.

Eventually, however, the pain gets bad enough that she can't fight it anymore, and at last she gives in and allows the nurses to hook her up to it. But it just makes her teary- allergic reaction, apparently, one of the nurses tells her early the next morning when she comes round to take her off the drip hastily and put her back on the tablets. Some people are allergic to this particular strain they put her on, it can mess with hormone levels and make some people horribly emotional.

It's all very well being told that after it's too late, once it's been pumping into her system all night and she can't stop sobbing.

She gets a text later that morning from Gemma, saying she thinks she can probably get the afternoon off work and what time would she like picking up from the hospital?

This is where her plan has failed. Jenna can't allow Gemma and the others to see her like this, she just can't. They'll see through her in a second, she's sure they will; thanks to the bloody painkillers that have rendered her temporarily incapable of stopping the tears from falling it won't take them long to work out that this most certainly is not the end result of a procedure 'not really any more evasive than keyhole surgery', as she had put it. No, discharging herself this afternoon is completely and utterly out of the question. She can't let anyone see her like this.

And so Jenna texts her back saying that she won't be discharged today, that she's had a bad reaction to the painkillers they gave her and she's a bit emotional, but not to worry about her, she's absolutely fine and she'll probably be able to come home tomorrow.

She hopes that will be enough to put her friends off the scent, at least until tomorrow morning. But it's not, of course, and around six in the evening there's a knock on her door and Gemma appears with a bunch of flowers and a Starbucks peppermint tea.

"Hey," she says softly. "It's just me. I know you said you didn't want any visitors but I hated the thought of you being stuck in here by yourself…" she trails off, frowning, concerned. "Have you been crying?"

Jenna nods at first, then shakes her head, not entirely sure which is the right answer. "I'm fine," she insists. "I'm fine, I just had a bad reaction to the medication they gave me this morning and I haven't really been able to stop… I'm fine!" she insists, seeing the Gemma doesn't look particularly convinced. "Honestly."

"You sure?" Gemma asks, unconvinced. She puts the flowers and the tea down and sits down in the chair beside the bed, reaching over to wrap her arms around her friend's shoulders. Jenna leans over to hug her back and rest her head on her shoulder, but leaning across pulls uncomfortably at the incision across her lower abdomen and before she realises what's happening she's sobbing again, unable to stop herself. It's not so much because she's in pain- it might be worse than she was expecting, but a combination of ibuprofen and paracetamol is making it much more bearable- it's more because she feels so all over the place and she has such lovely, caring friends, and in that moment, that realisation is a little overwhelming.

"Oh come on, that was meant to make you feel better!" Gemma teases her gently. "Are you sure you're OK?" she asks, voice concerned once again. "Does it hurt? Do you want me to go and get someone?"

Jenna shakes her head. "It's not that bad," she tells her friend. "It's really not. It's not so much that it hurts; I've been like this all day," she admits, embarrassed, because she's making a scene and still she can't seem to manage to stop. "It's that stuff they had me on this morning."

"The operation must have been more full-on than they'd thought though, right?" Gemma frowns, and Jenna wonders if she's onto her.

"Mmm, they had to make a bigger incision than planned, I think," she covers hastily, too emotionally drained to try and come up with anything better. "No big deal."

She manages to hold herself together until Gemma leaves, just about, telling her as she heads out of the door that she's fairly confident that she'll be discharged tomorrow once she's calmed down a bit. She's about to say she doesn't mind getting a taxi home when Gemma interrupts, telling her firmly that there's no way she and Becky and Kate are going to let her get a taxi home, and she's sure between the three of them they can work something out.

She holds herself together for a few more moments once Gemma's gone, until she's more or less absolutely certain she's gone, and only then does she allow herself to cry. She knows she'd never get rid of Gemma if she let her see her cry again. Jenna isn't convinced the problem now is that horrible medication they had her on earlier; if it was that it would have drained out of her system and she would be fine by now, she's sure of it. Maybe that was the trigger, but that isn't the reason she's crying now, unable to stop.

She can't stop now because her life is slowly yet surely falling apart, and there doesn't seem to be anything she can do about it.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed- this was definitely the fastest written chapter known to man! I promise there'll be more Matt next chapter. Reviews would be amazing, especially since the major stress starts tomorrow, you lot were just too brilliant last update :P Even close to as many as last time would be amazing and I would love you all forever. Assuming I don't die a slow and painful death worrying I won't get a university place tonight, there will be another update at some point before the end of this week, how soon is up to you :P **

**Thank you once again all you wonderful fabulous people, I honestly can't tell you how grateful I am.**

**Emeline x**

**PS, if you've worked out what's wrong with Jenna, or what the significance of the voices is, then massive bonus points :)**

**PPS. Upper Sixth is the last year of education before university in the UK, which makes it sort of the equivalent of 12th grade in America. Students in the Upper Sixth are aged 17/18.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Just saying this before we go any further: I'm not completely convinced I like this chapter, so sorry if it's not brilliant. I've faffed with it a bit and I don't think it's going to get any better, but I also don't think it's too terrible so you can have it anyway. The next one will be better, promise. Thank you all you wonderful people who reviewed the last chapter and kept me sane for the past couple of days: MoonCheesy, McKenzieAnne, Guest, Guest, fefie (I'm not telling you, not yet ;) ), emlouwor910, Fandom-Lover316, Rosie (thanks, hope your AS results went well too :) ) , Planet of the Deaf, zoz, librarykate (we'll get to Oscar the boyfriend in a couple of chapters; hope you hear good news about your job soon), VivaciousReader (thank you :)), ammyz1 (I'll take that as a compliment :P) , GoodKarma92, CelestialSyren (thank you so much for your review, and I hope you haven't died of anxiety :P ), Naenae12 and guest (I hadn't actually heard that before, but I'm not telling you how many similarities there are between that story and my plan for this ;) ). You guys are amazing, seriously. No idea how I managed it but I did get the grades I needed, which means I'm off to my first choice university in a month and a bit :)**

**Chapter 11**

She discharges herself from hospital on Wednesday, two days after her operation, against the advice of her doctor. She's fine, she assures him, she's absolutely fine, the pain is an awful lot better now and she knows she'll feel much better once she's home and more comfortable.

Her doctor isn't convinced. He only begins to relent when she points out the fact that's she's been on tablet medication for the last twelve hours (again, all carefully planned, she's put up with far more pain than she really needed to, deliberately, to ensure she could whip this out as part of her argument when the moment came), telling her he'll consider it once he's checked her incision.

She's forced back into a rather uncomfortable position in order to ascertain how she's healing, half propped up against the headboard of her hospital bed, half lying down, back bent awkwardly. It's a horribly unnatural, half reclined position; her back aches, her stomach muscles protest, refusing to hold her upright. She ends up collapsed back against the hard metal bars that make up the headboard of her bed, head spinning a little as the bandage wrapped around her midsection is peeled away. Not that she'll let on, of course, she can't let on. There's no way she's ever going to be allowed to discharge herself if she does, and Jenna knows it only too well.

It's the first time since coming round after the operation that she's been truly aware of what's been done to her, slumped over against those cold metal bars digging into her back, wishing someone had warned her she was going to be forced into this position and offered her another pillow. There was the pain, of course, she was only too aware of the pain when she first came round in the recovery room on Monday after the surgery, but she was never quite aware where it was coming from. Until she finally gave in and allowed the doctors to properly medicate her, that was; after that it was numbed, still she was left with a dull throbbing in her lower abdomen though difficult to narrow down to anything specific.

Now, however, it's different. Maybe it's the awkward position she's currently trying to hold herself in, or maybe the pain is finally beginning to subside enough for the painkillers to cancel it out completely, and its absence is allowing her to slowly but surely tune back in with her body.

Jenna hadn't given this particular issue much thought prior to the operation; she had been so desperate to get the damned thing out of her, so wrapped up in how on earth she was going to keep the real reason she was going into hospital from her flatmates, from her family, how she was going to manage to hold herself together at work on Friday and pretend as though nothing was wrong.

It's only now that Jenna has finally stopped to think about it, and it feels bizarre, well and truly bizarre. It doesn't hurt as such, it just feels alien, uncomfortable; it's a little distressing. It feels as though there's a void in her lower abdomen, a vast, hollow cavity that shouldn't be there, that simply doesn't feel _right_. She's conscious of it simply breathing in and out as her diaphragm inflates, conscious of there being this very physical emptiness inside her that feels so totally bizarre, conscious that something's been taken from her that she can't ever get back, can't ever replace. It's far more distressing than she could possibly have expected, that concept, and Jenna doesn't like it. She doesn't like it at all.

"It's healing well; we'll only need to re-bandage to keep it covered for a few days. . You're probably worried about the scarring, aren't you?" her surgeon remarks, pressing and pulling at her skin around the ugly gash running vertically up her belly, starting between her hip bones and finishing just below her navel. "You'll definitely have a scar, that's not going to heal completely I'm afraid, but it should fade with time."

But although her gaze is fixed upon the general area in which the incision is located, it's not its dark, ugly prominence against her skin that caused Jenna to feel rather alarmed. It's how fat and rounded her belly appears to her around the incision.

Nothing works anymore. Jenna can't pinpoint exactly when the change occurred, but for a good few days now, nothing has made the slightest bit of difference once these ideas have entered her head. Before, sometimes she had a hope in hell of convincing herself that it's not as bad as she thinks, just sometimes. On a good day she had a hope of reasoning with herself, coming to the conclusion that maybe Richard was right, maybe _they _were right, all of them, and she really is… that, but she won't be forever, at least she can do something about it.

But that's all changed over the past couple of days. Now, nothing works, not even for a few moments. She can't get any peace from it, no matter how hard she tries.

It's a strange feeling. It frightens her, apart from anything. Jenna doesn't understand what's happening to her, she just doesn't understand, and it's scary as hell.

Somewhere deep down in her conscience she's aware that it isn't normal, feeling like this. She remembers perfectly clearly a time, just a few weeks ago, when she didn't feel like this at all, when she was happy, blissfully happy. She was content; she had a boyfriend who loved her (or so she thought), she had the job she'd always wanted, she had friends and family she felt close to, whom she felt she could tell anything, she felt comfortable in her own skin.

That last part, especially, seems like a distant memory.

It's confusing. It's so confusing. It feels like such a long time ago now, but still Jenna can recall with perfect clarity how it felt to be more or less comfortable with her appearance. She can't make sense of it; she can't work out if she simply wasn't looking hard enough in the mirror before, or if she's going mad slowly but surely and her mind is playing tricks on her. That possibility does cross her mind once in a while, but the moment it does she takes a long, hard look at herself again, and within moments all of her confusion is eradicated.

It doesn't matter, Jenna decides, it doesn't matter what's changed. It doesn't even matter if she was completely blind before, in a state of denial whenever she looked in the mirror. It doesn't matter; it's not as though she can go back and change the past. All she can do is take control of the present, strive for perfection, and so it doesn't matter what has changed within her, it doesn't matter in the slightest. Not as long as she's doing something about it now.

She waits until something crossed between a bandage and a plaster has been re-applied to her incision before she begins to push the issue of going home once more. She's fine, she declares, she's absolutely fine, and she'll feel a whole lot better if she can go home and sleep in her own bed.

Jenna wins her doctor over eventually, albeit reluctantly. She texts Kate, promises to come back for a check-up in a weeks' time, and manages to escape the hospital before the end of the day. Once back home she collapses into a heap on the sofa, exhausted, though not too tired to notice the anxious looks Kate exchanges with Becky and Gemma when they arrive back from work. She allows them to fuss over her purely and simply because she knows it will make them feel better, manages to struggle her way through most of the plate of food placed in front of her only when Gemma puts her arms around her shoulders and tells her gently, teasing her, that she didn't think her cooking was that bad.

It's not that she's not hungry; her stomach is practically begging her to just get over herself and eat. It's that she just doesn't know if she can.

She's feeling better by Thursday morning; physically, at least. She's too uncomfortable to sleep but other than that she's feeling better, and most of the time the pain has subsided. She's going into work tomorrow for the Who's Companion casting workshop, Jenna decides firmly, staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She's only got to survive a few hours of holding herself together, after all. How difficult can it be? She doesn't look too terrible; nothing that make up and the right clothing choices can't disguise, at least.

It's decided, she's going. Perhaps it will even make her feel better.

She gets the auditions DVD Steven gave her out that afternoon, deciding that if she's going she might as well familiarise herself with it all. She's not going to have to be hugely involved this weekend, that's what Steven had told her and Matt before they left Cardiff. The casting director team are organising it; she, Matt, David and Billie are more there for the younger ones, according to Steven. "We'll get you to read some scenes with the ones we're more serious about on Sunday, but other than that just wander around a bit, check they're getting on OK, maybe if there's someone we think you could work well with onscreen we might send you out to run a few scenes. Sorry about this," he had said afterwards, rolling his eyes. "If I'd known we were going to try and rival Simon Cowell in the Saturday night entertainment department I would have put my foot down months ago."

The audition tapes aren't as bad as she had expected. The numbers have already been whittled down, thankfully, and out of the ones that remain there do seem to be a few who have something in the way of natural talent. It's difficult to tell from a tape; if nothing else, doing this is making Jenna appreciate just how difficult casting really is. That said, there isn't anyone she's overly excited about, not yet; she thinks back to her conversation with Steven and Matt just before they left Cardiff, during which the latter had joked that he would claim the best ones before anyone else got a look in. He can have them, Jenna decides, she's not overly interested, not feeling particularly competitive about it all. How she's going to manage supporting four people she doesn't even know through a potential fourteen weeks of live performances X Factor style when she can barely hold herself together, Jenna isn't quite sure.

She watches the performance audition clips for a lack of anything better to do and a lightheaded feeling whenever she attempts to stand up and move off the sofa; a few decent singers, some gymnastics amongst the younger ones, several hip hop-style dancers and a little girl whose dancing reminds Jenna of the style she was taught as a child, more of a cross between American contemporary and rhythmic gymnastics. Her feet sickle slightly when she extends her legs and she slaloms a little on her pirouettes, but she's not bad, Jenna concludes, having watched the clip a couple of times over to pick her technique to pieces. If nothing else, she's cute, she makes her smile properly for the first time in days. If she's forced to choose one to supervise she'll have her… Sapphira, aged seven. At least she'll actually know what she's talking about.

"Are you sure you're OK to work tomorrow?" Becky asks, voice a little concerned, over dinner that night (Jenna has decided that for the time being it's going to be far more practical to eat dinner and not bother with lunch, at least while she's alone during the day but in with her flatmates at night). "You don't think it's too soon?"

"Course not, I'll be fine," Jenna insists brightly, putting on her best care-free tone. She's been thanking her lucky stars more and more of late that she acts professionally, that she's capable of pulling off pretending to be absolutely fine when in reality she isn't fine at all. She treats it as playing a part; when she covers these things up she's not Jenna, she's playing a role. She's acting, the only difference to being at work is that the people around her don't realise she's doing it.

Jenna makes sure she's out of the flat early the following morning, before her flatmates are even awake, just to be sure they can't try and talk her out of going. Driving is still out of the question which means taking the tube across London to the BBC studios, camping out in the park across the road for a couple of hours until she's expected inside at 8am. She doesn't mind; it's pleasantly warm, and she has a book. She hasn't had much in the way of fresh air for several days what with her surgery on Monday, and finally being able to sit outside in the sun lifts her mood a little.

She texts Matt at around 7.55am, asking him if he's nearly there. She hasn't seen him since they left Cardiff, since this whole second nightmare started on top of the first, and as much as she would never admit it to him, she's missed him terribly. Plus the smell of breakfast from the café across the road is making her stomach growl with hunger, and she promised herself two days ago she wouldn't allow herself anywhere near breakfast until she's lost some weight. Possibly not even then, if she wants to keep it off.

'About 10 mins away,' he texts her back. 'In Starbucks, do you want anything?'

Jenna tells him she's already eaten, but a peppermint tea would be lovely, thanks. Her stomach rumbles in protest; she stubbornly ignores it.

She ends up walking round to the car park to meet him when he arrives, only having to wait a couple of minutes before Matt's black Volvo pulls into view.

"I know, I know, I'm late!" he calls to her as he clambers out of his car, practically falling over his own feet. "Overslept, don't even go there…" he stops, checking his watch while holding out a Starbucks cup to her simultaneously. "You needed have waited, you know, I've gone and made you late now…"

Jenna shakes her head. "Only by a couple of minutes," she insists, accepting the peppermint tea gratefully. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. How come you're so early anyway?" Matt asks as the two of them head for the entrance lobby, half walking, half running. It's the first time Jenna has attempted moving any faster than walking pace since her operation and it hurts; it creates an unpleasant sensation in the void where various parts of her anatomy were formerly located, pulls uncomfortably at the angry wound running vertically down her belly. She refuses to slow down in spite of it; slowing down and dropping back is only going to alert Matt to the fact that there's something wrong. He can't know there's anything wrong, he just can't. She's far too ashamed to tell him.

"I got the tube in," Jenna tells him. "My car's playing up." It's a lie, of course, but she can hardly tell him she's not allowed to drive for two weeks and expect him not to ask her why not.

Matt gives her a mock stare as they enter the lift. "Are you sure you're not just trying to rub in the fact that you can still get the tube?"

"Hey, it's not my fault I'm short enough not to get noticed!" Jenna laughs. "I just do the sunglasses trick, works every time."

Matt rolls his eyes. "And I bet you always get enough legroom when you manage to get a seat, don't you? Try being 6''2 on public transport, it's an absolute nightmare."

"I know it is, I had to put up with your constant moaning on the plane on the way out to Comic Con!" Jenna reminds him, giggling, as they approach the door of their meeting room. "Go on then, you can go first and make our excuses. Given it's your fault I'm late."

"Oi, I never asked you to wait for me!" Matt protests. But he shuffles in front of her all the same, moving towards the door. He goes to push it open, and then, to Jenna's surprise, stops to grab her hand and gives her a gentle tug, pulling her along after him. He seems to scan the conference table in the middle of the room as he enters, realising as Jenna does that the only two seats left are either side of Billie.

"Sorry we're late; my fault, I made her wait for me," Matt announces apologetically, giving Billie a look that Jenna doesn't quite catch due to her standing behind him. The next thing Jenna knows, Billie is sliding across into the empty chair to the left and Matt's hand is on her back, pushing her gently into the nearest spare seat and sitting down in the chair beside her. He must have picked up on the look of confusion on her face, because suddenly he is blushing, ears turning a deep shade of red.

"Sorry," he whispers, letting go of her. "I… I wanted to hold your hand," he mumbles, voice practically inaudible, leaving Jenna highly amused.

How can she do anything but smile in response to that?

Their meeting is relatively straight forward, over within half an hour. It's more for David and Billie's benefit than it is for hers and Matt's, Jenna concludes; David and Billie weren't at their initial meeting with Steven in Cardiff. It's an easy enough role the four of them are being asked to play for the first day; wander around while those auditioning are running through lines they will be given that morning, offer advice if appropriate, help the child actors if necessary. Relatively straight forward, Jenna reasons. Unless 'help the child actors' involves sitting on the floor with them and checking they understand their script, something she remembers from auditioning herself as a child, in which case she's not entirely convinced the dull throbbing in her abdomen will allow her to get back up.

"So basically, we're on babysitting duty," Matt concludes once it's just the four of them- him, Billie, David and Jenna- still remaining in the conference room, not needed just yet. "That's fine, I can cope with that. Just give me babysitting from now until Christmas and I'll be happy."

Jenna isn't entirely sure if she agrees with him. It's different for the others; David and Billie have their own children, and Matt is brilliant, he always has been. He was more than brilliant with the children who approached him at Comic Con, what now seems like a lifetime ago, somehow managing to strike the perfect balance between being himself and being the doctor each time. Jenna is perfectly comfortable around children she knows- she adores her baby niece and was always close to her much younger cousins- but especially given she still isn't feeling quite herself, having to spend the morning with children she doesn't know is possibly a little more nerve-wracking than adults she doesn't know.

Maybe her flatmates were right and she should have phoned in sick today after all.

Actually, scrap that, maybe she should just stop being so proud and go and find Steven and tell him the truth, confess that rather a lot of her female anatomy was ripped out of her somewhat out of the blue on Monday and she's not quite feeling herself.

Except that's not an option, not really. Apart from the fact that it would be hugely embarrassing for both of them, she's in too deep now, the lie is too embellished. There's nothing for it but to keep living this lie she's begun and wait until it starts to get better and she doesn't have to keep pretending any longer.

It's only until 3pm, Jenna tells herself, it's only until 3pm and then she can make her excuses and disappear home and collapse in an agonised heap for an hour or so until her flatmates arrive home from work. Only six hours, that's all she's got to struggle through. Only six hours.

The introductions and the first hour or so sail past in a bit of a blur; to Jenna, at least. She's a little too busy concentrating on holding herself together to pay attention to what the casting director in charge of the workshop is saying, trying to establish if it's going to be possible to slip out and retrieve her painkillers from her bag without drawing attention to herself. She makes a mental note to keep them in her pocket next time, wondering why on earth she didn't think of that before. Then again, she seems completely incapable of thinking straight at the moment, full stop.

It is a relatively straightforward job, Jenna concludes; what is expected of them today, at least. Walk around offering advice with monologues, sign a few cards, assure anyone looking nervous they're doing a good job and move on to the next one. It takes her just under an hour to come to the conclusion that the adults are more excited than the children… or maybe the children are just more nervous than the adults? Quite possibly.

The other conclusion Jenna comes to is that her initial concerns were baseless; in a lot of ways, the children are easier to talk to than the adults. She feels like something of a fraud trying to give advice to people around the same age as her, as though sooner or later someone is going to see through her and realise she doesn't really know what she's talking about at all, that she's just cobbling together as she goes along and hoping for the best. At least with the younger ones, all she has to do is sound convincing and they're guaranteed to lap up her every word as though it's gospel, without somehow managing to make her question if she really knows what she's doing.

The little girl who's dancing she remembers from the audition DVD looks up at Jenna with a wide, inquisitive, a little overwhelmed stare from a corner at the edge of the room. That makes two of them.

"Hi," Jenna begins gently, crouching down to make eye contact and realising too late that might not have been the most sensible idea. "You OK?"

She frowns, holding out her script. "What does that say?"

"This word?" Jenna asks. "Sophisticated. Blimey, that's a bit complicated, isn't it? How old are you?"

"Seven."

"Seven?" Could she have sounded out 'sophisticated' aged seven? Mostly likely not, Jenna concludes, wondering if anyone has thought this whole thing through enough to give the younger child actors a different, age appropriate script. Most likely not. "I bet you're almost eight though, aren't you?"

"In November."

"Ah OK, not long to go then. I'm Jenna, by the way."

She giggles a little at that. "I know."

"OK, fair point," Jenna laughs. "And your name's Sapphira, right? I remember watching your dancing for your audition," she explains, seeing the confused look on Sapphira's face. "I used to do that sort of dancing, when I was about your age."

"You did?" Sapphira's face lights up, suddenly interested. "Can you do fouettes?"

"I could."

"But you can't anymore?"

"Well yes, but badly, by myself, no one watching," Jenna tells her. "But that's our secret, OK?"

"OK. Can you do thirty two, like in Swan Lake?"

"When I was about thirteen, yes. Now, definitely not."

"Will you teach me?"

Jenna laughs. "I'm probably not the best person to do that. Why don't you ask your teacher?"

"I don't have a teacher, my sister teaches me. She does rhythmic gymnastics; she's going to compete for Great Britain. Probably."

"Wow, really? That's cool. So you don't have dance lessons at all?"

She shakes her head. "No, just Sofia."

"Sofia's your sister? Why don't you ask her to teach you? I bet she can do fouettes."

"She can, but she only teaches me easy stuff. Otherwise she gets really impatient and we shout at each other," Sapphira explains matter-of-factly, and Jenna can't help but laugh.

"Fair enough. You love her really though, right?"

"Sometimes."

"I suppose sometimes is better than nothing. Tell you what, if you get on with your monologue now, I'll try and teach you to do fouettes tomorrow, OK? But I'm not promising anything."

"OK." Sapphira smiles; it's the first time she's seen her smile without looking quite so rabbit-in-the-headlights, Jenna realises.

"See you later then, yeah?" Jenna tells her, fighting to keep her face neutral as she forces her muscles to engage and allow her to stand up, determined not to allow the pain to become obvious.

She thinks she just about manages to pull it off. Until, that is, she glances back over her shoulder at Sapphira, and suddenly she's not so sure.

* * *

**Hope it was OK. Reviews/Pms would be wonderful and would increase the update speed, as ever :P Thank you once again for all your support over the past few days, you guys are seriously fab.**

**Emeline x**

**PS. one question this time: if you were taking a seven year old to Starbucks/Cafe Nero etc, what would you order them?**


	12. Chapter 12

**OK, so I've decided that the last chapter had too much going on in it and felt too erratic, so I've cut down on the content for this one and embellished what is included, I think this is better but please do let me know! Thank you everyone who reviewed the last chapter: fandomlover316, Jenny0901, Guest, ValkyrieEverdeen12, GreenAdventurer, runyoucleverboy-remember, Guest, Guest, OswinSmith, emlouwor910, f4nta, DragonRose4, McKenzieAnne, CelestialSyren (I feel very special- thank you! I think it's been slightly less of a wait this time than last time- I'm aiming for every 3 days minimum but I seem to be doing better than that at the moment), TeaghanSonderson, VivaciousReader (cyber hugs to you too!), librarykate (it's funny you say that, mine was awful the lesson before lunch last year and I was sure people must have heard it, cue mentioning in the last lesson and they all looked at me blankly! Clearly your colleagues are just rude and my school year are just deaf :P ), Pointeofdance, zoz, bethanria-proudwhoufflepuff, ixpinkRoses and Planet of the Deaf, you lot are seriously fab, I know I tell you that every time but that's because it's true. To address some things a lot of you have been asking:**

**There will be lots of Matt in the next chapter, and the one after that, promise! He was in this chapter a lot but then I did the chapter split, so bear with me for this one and they'll be a lot more of him next chapter :) However, what you've lost in Matt in this chapter you've gained in answers... ;) **

**Lots of you seem to be dancers: glad you think I'm doing an OK job! My dance career consists of 10 years of recreational ballet (that I stopped 4 years ago), about 3 weeks of tap and 6 weeks of Irish dancing, all of which I seriously regret giving up now. For this I've used what I remember of ballet gymnastics and I've done an awful lot of research and watching clips on youtube, I'm doing my best to make it as realistic as possible but obviously research can't make up for experience, so if I get something wrong please do let me know! **

**To Planet of the Deaf and anyone else wondering: if you'd seen my plans for this you'd know it's going to be fairly long, plus I have plans for a sequel if I haven't bored you all to tears by then! So the chances of me finishing before I go to university are next to none. HOWEVER please don't think I will be abandoning this when I go. While I absolutely love spending time with my friends and family, I've always needed a couple of hours to myself every few days to read and write my own stuff and I seriously doubt that's going to change, I was writing for years before I started publishing this. In terms of hours these chapters take me around 2-3 to complete, sometimes I'll sit down and just write solidly, other times I'll do it in chunks over a few days. What I'm already doing is keeping at least one chapter ahead of what I've uploaded so if I have a busy few days I'm not left in a position where I have nothing to upload, so as far as university goes I'm just planning on having 2+ chapters pre-written rather than just the one, and that way I should be able to keep on top of it. What I'm trying to say is this: don't worry, I promise I'll keep writing as long as you keep reading. **

**Chapter 12**

She awakes in absolute agony the following morning. Maybe it was all the crouching on the floor with Sapphira the day before, or maybe going straight back to work four days after her surgery having not left the house and barely had to shuffle more than ten paces at a time in those four days was quite simply too much for her body to cope with all at once.

Never mind that; she doesn't particularly care what it was that tipped her over the edge, Jenna decides wearily when her alarm clock goes off at six thirty, curling up, then stretching out, desperately trying to find a position in which she no longer feels as though her lower abdomen is being sliced open, in which her stomach muscles will relax and cease filling every fibre of her body with a hot, burning pain. She must have only drifted off to sleep very recently, two hours ago at the very earliest, Jenna concludes; she was lying awake most of the night, not in the agonising pain she's experiencing now but rather uncomfortable, unable to switch off and relax enough for sleep to claim her. Consequently, she's now well and truly exhausted, and exhausted and in agony is certainly not the best of combinations.

She doesn't know quite what to do. She needs to go into work; Jenna tells herself, she's meant to be working today, but she's not convinced she can find the energy to drag herself out of bed. Her limbs feel strangely heavy, as though they're made of lead, weighing her down and filling her with an overwhelming desire to allow herself to sink back into her mattress and close her eyes and drift back into a fitful, uneasy sleep. Anything is better than being awake and conscious of the stabbing pain in her abdomen.

Jenna manages to reach out for her painkillers on the edge of her bedside table and swallow two straight, not bothering to fumble trying to open her bottle of water. She flops down onto her back and closes her eyes, pressing her hands to her temples, willing it to stop.

It hurts. It hurts like hell, the worst pain she's experienced in her entire life by a long shot.

She just wants it to stop.

There's no use going on like this, Jenna tells herself firmly. She needs to pull herself together. Phoning in sick isn't an option; she doesn't want Steven to think she's a liability, that she simply can't be bothered to turn up. But then she can't tell him the truth, either. Jenna groans, wrapping her arms around her midsection, breathing heavily. _You can do this_, she tells herself, not particularly confidently. _Of course you can._

She's not quite sure what happens next. She _thinks_ she tries to snap herself out of it and sit up, but suddenly there's a dull thump and the next thing Jenna knows she's lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, disorientated, not entirely sure how she got there.

"Jen?" She hears from along the hallway, someone calling out her name. "Jen, you OK? Jenna?"

She moans a little in response, tries to reassure whoever it is calling for her that she's OK, but suddenly she feels half asleep again and her body refuses to cooperate. She's aware of a flurry of activity around her and she forces herself out of it, knowing full well her flatmates are only going to start fussing over her if she doesn't convince them she's really fine.

She manages to force her eyes open a little, only to find Becky and Gemma peering down at her, concerned. "Mm'OK," she mumbles, eyes closing again, unable to keep them open. "Just tired."

"She's fine, she's half asleep," Gemma laughs, her voice sounding curiously fuzzy and muffled to Jenna. "She must have just fallen out of bed; we're so going to have to tease her about this later. Help me lift her up, will you?"

She's suddenly aware of a pair of hands around her ankles, another under her arms, aware that she's being lifted, head spinning. She's more or less drifted back to sleep by the time the duvet is smoothed back down over her, a hand is pressed to her forehead and one muffled voice assures the other that she's fine, that she hasn't got a temperature nor is she too cold, that she's most likely just very, very tired and it's probably best they just leave her to sleep for a little while longer. At which point Jenna decides she hasn't got the energy to fight to keep herself awake any longer, that hey, they're not particularly worried about her, they're expecting her to sleep for another few hours anyway so why disappoint? She forgets all about work and simply allows her eyes to close, her body to relax and her grip on reality to loosen once more.

She's tired. She's too tired and far too emotionally drained to be focusing on anything that isn't sleep, for the moment, at least.

The next time Jenna awakes it's a far more gradual process; slowly but surely she becomes aware of a bright light across her eyelids, a now numbed soreness in that unsettling hollow cavity inside her, a coarse, dry feeling in her throat.

On a more positive note, her head is no longer pounding and the pain is significantly more bearable than it was before. She still feels tired but not half as exhausted as she did when she first awoke (several hours ago now? Jenna isn't sure), now she simply feels sleepy, as though she's been in a deep sleep for some time and pulling herself out of it is going to have to be a gradual process. She yawns sleepily, stretching out like a cat in the morning sun, relieved when her body fails to fill with the horrific pain she experienced the last time she attempted this. She places her hands over the bandage covering her incision and presses, testing, trying to ascertain exactly how careful she needs to be.

It doesn't hurt, not agonisingly so, it just feels sore. That's an improvement.

Jenna yawns sleepily, rolling over slowly, cautiously, reaching out to grab her phone from her bedside table and check the time. 10.36 am, one missed call: Steven Moffat, one text. Steven Moffat: 'Jenna. Call me when you get this.'

Shit.

She groans, leaning heavily on the headboard of her bed as she pulls herself up into a sitting position, now rather anxious. Shit. Slowly but surely her brain kicks into gear, reminding her that she was meant to be at work hours ago… she remembers half waking up in a horrific amount of pain earlier… she thinks she remembers Becky and Gemma coming in as she fell back to sleep… they know she's meant to be at work today, they wouldn't have allowed her to go back to sleep and not done something to let work know she wasn't coming in, would they?

Jenna hopes not.

Plucking up the courage to call Steven back takes her a good few minutes. She's now rather worried; she can't quite gage the tone of his message; why do text messages have to be so damn ambiguous? Jenna can't work out whether he's angry with her or not, whether he knows she's not coming into work today or if he's entirely oblivious and wondering where the hell she is. She tries to reassure herself that Becky and Gemma would have phoned to say she was ill, but then can't quite decide whether that makes matters better or worse. What would they have said? This is where her elaborate web of lies has potentially turned against her, Jenna realises; her flatmates are under the impression she'd told Steven about her operation, about the operation she told them she was having, at least.

She's having trouble keeping up with this herself, and she's the one at the centre of it.

"Jenna?"

She had been so lost in her thoughts trying to prepare herself for every possible scenario that she had almost forgotten she'd started the call; Steven's voice from the other end of the line causes her to jump.

"Jenna, what were you thinking?" Steven exclaims, and just for a moment Jenna can't work out whether his tone is angry or not. "You should have told me! What did you think I was going to do, tell you that you'd just have to wait until next week to be operated on because I needed you at work this weekend? Your flatmates must think I'm some sort of monster!"

"I'm sorry," Jenna whispers, everything suddenly more or less clarified. Her flatmates must have borrowed her phone and called Steven to say she wouldn't be at work, at which point it must have become rather clear that Steven didn't know quite as much as they did. That he didn't know anything at all about her operation, in fact. "I'm sorry," she says again, a heartfelt apology the only thing she can think of to possibly say. "I just thought, I don't know, I thought it would be best if…"

"If you kept it to yourself and came into work two days after being discharged from hospital acting like everything was fine?" Steven finishes for her. "What on earth made you think that was a good idea?

"I…" Jenna stammers, voice trembling. Steven's reaction has thrown her a little; she's not entirely sure how she was expecting him to react to this revelation on her flatmates' part, but she certainly wasn't expecting this. She's still struggling to work out whether he's really angry with her or just concerned, struggling to pitch her own response accordingly. "I guess… I just didn't, you know… I didn't want to make a fuss…"

"You had a myomectomy on Monday for god's sake, Jenna; I think you've got every right to make a fuss!"

"I'm sorry," Jenna whispers again, not entirely sure what to do other than keep apologising and hope Steven calms down. She wasn't expecting this; she was expecting him to not know where she was, to be angry at her for not bothering to show up for work. She had mentally prepared herself for that while waiting for the call to connect, but she hadn't had the chance to prepare for this particular scenario.

A few weeks ago she might have been able to handle this a little better, but now Jenna feels as though her brain has gone into meltdown; despite managing to catch up on sleep at last she still feels sluggish, can't quite think straight. She feels a little panicked for reasons she can't seem to explain, not quite sure what's happening to her, unable to pinpoint exactly why she doesn't feel herself. It's as though all of her energy has been sapped from her and no amount of sleep seems to quite succeed in building her levels back up.

It's just the operation, Jenna tells herself, not quite as confidently as she would like. It's just the after-effects of the operation, that's all; she'll feel herself again in a week or so. She hopes.

"Jenna, are you alright?" Steven sighs. It's almost as though he's somehow read her mind; either that or her façade is slipping, and even over the phone she's managing to make it perfectly obvious that something isn't quite right, operation aside. "In general, I mean."

"Of course," Jenna covers quickly, smiling brightly in the hope that somehow if she attempts to act cheerful, it might go some way towards making her tone a little more convincing. She doesn't understand what's wrong with her; she was always good at improvisation during A level drama. Why is she finding it so difficult now?

"I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?" she insists. "I mean, physically I'm not feeling brilliant, but I'm OK, honestly. I'll be fine once I've had the stitches taken out."

"Gemma, your flatmate, she seemed to think it was all quite sudden," Steven says, tone suddenly changed, gentle. He's not angry, Jenna realises that now. He's just worried. He's clearly worried about her, and if she's completely honest with herself, she can't really blame him.

"It was a bit out of the blue," Jenna admits. "But I'm OK about it, honestly. It's only a myomectomy; it's not a big deal."

A part of her wonders if maybe she tells herself that enough times over, she might start to believe it herself.

"And you're OK after… after Richard?" Steven asks, slightly awkwardly. "Matt seemed to think you were quite upset when you broke up…"

"Oh, he said that, did he?" Jenna asks, irritated. "I'm fine about it, why does everyone think I'm not? We weren't seeing enough of each other, we both decided to end things and we've both moved on, what more is there to say?"

"OK, as long as you're alright," Steven sighs. "Matt was only trying to help, honestly. You didn't leave me with a lot of choice, Jenna; your flatmate phoned to say you weren't coming in and it quickly became apparent she thought I knew you were in hospital until Wednesday. I had to talk to him, I had to try and work out if there was something wrong to explain why you didn't feel you could tell us."

"I'm sorry, I really am." She's sincere this time; even Jenna is prepared to admit that perhaps she was wrong about this, that perhaps she should have been honest with Steven from the start. By honest, she means telling him she was going in for a myomectomy, of course. Not the real truth. That much goes without saying.

"Oh god, that's what you wanted to tell me that night you called me, isn't it?" Steven realises. "Oh Jenna, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have been so dismissive. Look, as long as you're sure you're alright, that's what matters."

"Thanks. I really am sorry; I know I should have told you. I promise I'll be in tomorrow…"

"No, no Jenna, listen. I don't want you working tomorrow unless you're absolutely sure you're up to it, OK? I mean it, if it's too much, don't come in. No one's going to think any less of you."

"Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow," Jenna tells him, but he cuts her off.

"Only if you feel up to it! I mean it, Jenna, only if it's not too much. See you soon, OK?"

She cries once she's put the phone down. Partly because she's a little overwhelmed, because she didn't expect Steven to be so understanding, partly because despite how easy it's becoming to do, she feels really rather awful about lying to him. She doesn't want to lie to Steven, she doesn't want to lie to anyone, but it's the only way, Jenna tells herself sadly. It's the only way she can think of to deal with this. Saying it out loud will make it real, it will force her to begin the long and painful process of acceptance, and Jenna doesn't want to accept it, not now, not ever. She just wants everything to go back to the way it was before, she just wants to feel normal again, to feely happy. Is that really too much to ask for?

Eventually she manages to muster the energy to pull herself out of bed properly and get dressed, faffs around in her bedroom mirror attempting to make herself a little more presentable. She ventures out of her room and heads towards the kitchen; she's adamant she's not having breakfast, but she does fancy peppermint tea. There are no calories in peppermint tea, not to Jenna's knowledge, at least.

She makes it roughly six paces down the hallway before she's pounced on by Gemma and pulled into a tight hug.

"You OK?" Gemma asks softly. "How are you feeling?"

"OK," Jenna tells her honestly. "Better. Much better than this morning, anyway."

"Glad to hear it, you were scary earlier. You must have fallen out of bed half asleep, do you remember?"

"A little bit."

"Jen, listen," Gemma says seriously, guiding her into the living room and sitting down on the sofa, waiting until Jenna follows suit. "We need to talk."

She sighs. "This is about me not telling Steven about the operation, isn't it?"

Silence falls.

"I just don't understand why you didn't tell him," Gemma says at last. "You lied to me, you lied to all of us, you said you'd tell him…"

"I know, I know, I'm sorry!" Jenna practically shouts at her; she's hanging onto her composure by a thread, knowing full well that any minute she's going to snap and either irrational anger or unstoppable tears will emerge from the wreckage. "I was going to tell him, I was, but I didn't…" she trails off. "I didn't want everyone to make a fuss."

And then the floodgates open and she's crying properly, uncontrollable tears, as though all the emotions of the past few weeks are erupting out of her all at once and she can't do a thing to stop it. She feels hopeless; she feels well and truly hopeless for all manner of reasons, and nothing seems to help. Not denial, not keeping it to herself, not trying to amend the greatest of her many imperfections. A small, ever-fainter voice in the back of Jenna's mind tries to tell her that perhaps talking about it- all of it- would help, but she stubbornly ignores it. It wouldn't help, she's sure it wouldn't, it would only make it all worse. It would make her feel humiliated, useless, ashamed, and let's face it, she has enough moments in which she experiences all of those at once already. It's better to struggle on and hope it all gets better on its own.

Gemma is silent for a while, simply holding her hand, stroking her back, trying to comfort her. "It's OK," she whispers at last. "It's OK, it's all OK. I understand, Jen, I do, but this isn't going to help, trying to bottle everything up. Look," she squeezes Jenna's hand, turning to face her properly. "You can tell me anything, you know that, don't you? I'm here for you, we all are. OK?"

Jenna nods and smiles, playing along, promises that she'll be more open in future, that she'll talk about what's bothering her. She promises.

Twenty minutes or so later, she excuses herself, goes back to her room and makes a list in her head, a list of everything that she's currently bottling up, as Gemma put it.

_I can't tell you truth. I can't tell you the truth and I hate it and it's making me feel horribly guilty, but I couldn't bring myself to do it and now I'm in too deep and I'm never going to be able to tell anyone without them hating me for not being honest in the first place._

_I didn't have a myomectomy; I lied to you. I had a hysterectomy; I had stage 1 uterine cancer and I had a hysterectomy. I just didn't want to tell you that. And I'm fine now, and I should be grateful, but somehow I don't feel complete anymore and I don't see how anyone's ever going to want to be with me ever again. And I'm not going to be able to have children and that hurts more than I thought it would, and I can't bring myself to tell my mum because I know she'll be so disappointed. _

_I feel like I've failed. I feel like this doesn't happen to people until they're already married with children and they haven't got so much to lose. And it feels like it can't ever get better, because I've lost something I can't ever get back so I'm just going to have to get over myself and live with it, except I don't know if I can, I really don't. And I don't understand what I've done wrong, I don't understand, I don't understand why because this just doesn't happen to women until they're much older than twenty seven, but it does, it's happened to me and I don't understand what I did to deserve it, I don't understand._

_I don't want to tell you the real reason my boyfriend dumped me wasn't because we weren't seeing enough of each other, it was because he thought I was a short, fat, ugly pig and he couldn't stand to be with me anymore. And the more I think about it the more I realise he's right, and the more convinced I become of that the more hopeless I feel, and I know I can't go on like this but I don't know what else to do. I don't want to tell you because it hurts too much, because it's too humiliating to admit out loud, and if you knew you might remind me of what it was like in Upper Sixth and I think about that enough already now, I don't need you to remind me of it too. And then sometimes I think maybe it would be OK if you just worked it out, and then you'd know, but it's been getting on for two weeks now and you don't notice, you just don't notice. And then I go back to thinking you know what, I don't want you to know after all, I don't want anyone to know, and before I know it I don't know what I want anymore._

_And sometimes it all just gets too much and I just want to tell you that it's your fault, all your fault, because you didn't notice; you didn't notice what was happening in Upper Sixth and when you did you didn't do anything about it, you just told me to ignore it. And I don't think you understood how awful it made me feel and I couldn't find a way to tell you, and every now and then it would happen when you happened to be there and you'd tell me to ignore it but it didn't help, it was too bad to just ignore and I don't think you ever understood that, any of you. It wasn't your fault and I don't blame you, not really, but you didn't help. And that just makes it all worse now, because I can't tell you how hopeless I feel now without telling you why, and then I'd only make you feel guilty and I couldn't do that to you, I couldn't. And so I don't know what to do. _

_I don't know what to do. _

Yep, brilliant plan, Jenna sighs to herself. Even if she did somehow manage to express it all out loud, it would almost certainly go down like a lead balloon. Not to mention the fact that it wouldn't be fair, it wouldn't be fair to burden Gemma and Becky and Kate with all that, let alone knowing full well that it might cause them to feel something in the way of guilt. She can't tell them; no matter what Gemma says, she can't tell them.

She can't tell anyone.

* * *

**The italics were not easy to write (and probably took me twice as long as the rest of it did!) so hope it turned out OK. Reviews would be wonderful, and there's lots of Matt in chapter 13, and in chapter 14 which I'm writing at the moment, promise :) **

**xx**


	13. Chapter 13

**So there are now almost 100 people following this story- that's more than there were in my year at school! I'm really rather amazed so many people are reading this, let alone enjoying it enough to follow/favourite. Thank you so, so much, and especially to those of you reviewing, you lot are awesome. I love you even more when you review, hint hint ;) **

**Huge hugs to guest, pointeofdance, greenadventurer, guest, f4nta,valkyrieEverdeen12, CelestialSyren (that definitely covers it and was a rather wonderful review, thank you :)), McKenzieAnne, ammyz1, viviciousreader, guest, lizzy, zoz, planet of the deaf (thank you :)), librarykate, emlouwor910, guest and fandom-lover316 for your wonderful reviews, you are all amazing, seriously. As requested, there's a lot more Matt in this one :)**

**Chapter 13**

She does go into work on Sunday, the final day of the Who's Companion casting workshop.

Jenna deliberately waits until she's already left the house and just about to get on the tube to text Steven and tell him she's coming, knowing full well he'll attempt to talk her out of it given her a chance. This way, she can tell him she's already more or less at work and there's definitely no sense in turning right back around and going home again.

In all fairness, she is feeling an awful lot better than she was yesterday morning, and that's the honest truth. It's almost as though her body needed a day to recover from leaving her flat for the first time since her operation in order to go straight back to work on Friday; twenty four hours later Jenna genuinely feels an awful lot better, physically, at least. She's still conscious of the pain when she awakes that morning, but it's not even close to the intensity it had been the day before, so unbearable then that it had made her feel dizzy and ill.

This morning, thankfully, her painkillers are enough to numb the throbbing in her lower abdomen to a bearable level, and she manages to slip quietly out of the flat, leaving a note on the table for Gemma, Becky and Kate telling them she's feeling an awful lot better, that she's going to work and not to worry about her, she promises to come home again if it's all too much. Actually, scrap that, she promises to phone one of them and ask if they wouldn't mind coming to pick her up and give her a lift back home if it's all too much, so they won't even have to worry about her on the underground.

She won't, of course, but they don't need to know that.

The only trouble with her painkillers is that while they are starting to make the physical pain a whole lot more bearable, if anything, they seem to make Jenna even more conscious of the bizarre, empty cavity inside her.

It's horrible, well and truly horrible, and rather difficult to describe. She's been struggling to come up with a suitable analogy for almost a week now, and still Jenna is no closer to being able to relate this to any sensation she's experienced ever before in her life.

It feels… weird, there's no other word for it. It just feels weird. Weird and uncomfortable and alien and distressing, emphasis on the weird; that's the best that she can come up with. The 'weird' is the part that upsets her, that causes the distress, because somehow her body doesn't quite feel like her own anymore. As bizarre as it sounds, she's aware of a distinct, hollow feeling inside her, she can feel that there's something missing, she can just feel it. It feels as though there's an empty space inside her where something should be; where rather a lot of her reproductive anatomy should be, in fact. She can't tell what it is that's missing of course, but somehow she can sense that it's something, that this void inside her is really very real, not at all a figment of her imagination.

Nobody warned her about this. Nobody thought to warn her that she was going to be conscious of an empty space inside her; all the consultant said was that she might notice it felt a little different during sex, and that hadn't particularly concerned Jenna at the time. After all, she had reasoned with herself with an alarming cool and collected air while feeling rather numb simultaneously, it wasn't as if any man was going to want to come near her anyway, for the moment at least. Not until she'd lost some weight and stopped behaving like a spoilt child if Richard was to be believed. All things considered, why worry about the impact a hysterectomy might have on her future when she knew full well that her uterus was being invaded by a mass of rapidly multiplying, cancerous cells, right now this very second?

Jenna doesn't regret going ahead with the operation. She doesn't regret it because she knows she didn't have an awful lot of choice; the treatment without a hysterectomy option would have been a far longer, less certain and more painful process. At least this way she was free of it, cured, regardless of all she had lost along the way.

But not regretting it doesn't mean she finds it easy to cope with, not in the slightest.

She alternates between feeling horribly upset about the whole thing and feeling completely and utterly numb, as though nothing in the entire world matters, not one thing. When that numb feeling comes over her Jenna doesn't care anymore; she doesn't care that she feels incomplete now a part of her female anatomy has been yanked clean out of her in one swift, horribly painful blow, she doesn't care that she's undoubtedly going to spend the rest of her life alone, because let's face it, who is going to want to be with her now, incomplete, infertile, damaged? Nobody, she's certain of it. It either renders her horribly upset or completely blank, emotionless, unable to snap herself out of a dark, unhappy mood, a solemn raincloud hanging over her gloomily.

It's just the shock, Jenna tells herself. It's just the shock; not two weeks ago she felt completely fine, blissfully unaware that there was anything wrong with her at all. It's the shock of all that she's been through in the past week or so- the diagnosis, the operation, the aftermath- that's all, that's the culprit making her feel so numb and drained. That's all. It will fade away with time, she tells herself, it's nothing to worry about.

She sits on the tube with her hands pressed to her lower belly, trying to establish whether there is anything she can do to ease the queer, queasy feeling that comes over her whenever the train pulls picks up speed. It's similar to the feeling of leaving your stomach behind on a rollercoaster, except it makes her feel sick; that and it refuses to stop once the tube is stationary.

There's nothing, she concludes eventually; there's nothing. Somehow, sudden, jerky movement makes her even more conscious than normal (new normal, that is, normal in terms of post-hysterectomy existence) that she's missing something, that there's an empty cavity inside her that wasn't there a week ago. How is it possible to suddenly be so aware of the absence of something she had no awareness of whilst it was still there? It's bizarre, well and truly bizarre; nothing could quite have prepared her for this sensation, even if she had been warned. It's impossible to understand until experienced, and even then it feels so completely alien that it's difficult to describe, to rationalise. Maybe that's why she's finding the whole thing so horribly distressing.

The worst part of it is the uncertainty; the not knowing whether or not it's going to feel like this forever. Perhaps once her body recovers properly from the operation this peculiar out-of-body-esque sensation will disappear and she'll feel normal again, or perhaps this is the new normal, perhaps it's going to be like this forever and she's just going to have to get used to it. Jenna doesn't have the faintest idea, and it's a question she's too embarrassed to even consider posing to her doctor. Perhaps she should Google it, attempt to find some answers for herself, but when she tried yesterday she stopped herself, wasn't quite able to go through with it.

She's afraid that her assumption is correct, that it's going to be like this forever, and somehow she's just going to have to find a way to live with it. Jenna is in no rush to confirm that particular suspicion.

She arrives outside the BBC studios at 8am on the dot after a short walk from the tube station. If she's completely honest with herself, she feels a little nervous for reasons she can't quite explain; is that completely ridiculous? Jenna asks herself. Most likely.

It had only occurred to her while on the tube that when she spoke to Steven on the phone the day before, she hadn't thought to ask him whether or not he had told anyone else about the operation (the operation he believed she had been in hospital for earlier in the week, of course, not the hysterectomy she had really been in hospital for; god, this was getting confusing). That was most likely what was causing her to feel more and more nervous the closer she got to the building's entrance, the not knowing quite how events were going to unfold when she arrived.

She had gotten the impression on the phone to Steven the day before that he had spoken to Matt about her not being at work; _Matt seemed to think you were quite upset when you broke up… _that's what he had said. But had he actually told Matt about the operation, or had he simply been asking him if he thought she was coping? Jenna wasn't quite sure. She had struggled to gage Steven's tone on the phone, so much so that it had taken her a good ten minutes to establish that what she had initially mistaken for anger was in fact simply worry; he was worried about her, she had failed miserably to give off a constant impression of being absolutely fine, no matter how hopeless and defeated she really felt.

She should have asked Steven how much he had told everyone at work, it should have occurred to her sooner. Too late now though, Jenna sighs to herself; she's simply going to have to play it by ear, work it out as she goes along.

Jenna barely makes it through the doors into the BBC studios before she's pounced upon, lifted just off her tiptoes and pulled into a tight hug, crushed into the chest of the hug giver as though they have made up their mind never to let go. She reaches up to wrap her arms around Matt's neck, holding on tightly, clinging to him.

There's something wonderfully reassuring about the warmth of his embrace, something about his arms wrapped firmly around her waist that makes the unpleasant, empty sensation in her abdomen so much easier to bear. Suddenly it doesn't matter that she's slowly but surely falling to pieces, not when he's holding her so close to him she can feel the soothing, steady rhythm of his heart, his chin resting gently upon the crown of her head, his breath tickling her scalp.

He's holding her together, preventing her from falling apart and he doesn't even know it.

She doesn't want to pull away from him. She hasn't felt as safe and content as she does now in weeks, not since Richard dumped her and the whole world fell apart, and that's not a coincidence, Jenna knows it isn't. It's him, it's Matt; somehow he always manages to make her feel better. She never says it- they rarely say that sort of thing to each other- but somehow whenever she's upset he instinctively knows exactly what to do to make it better, calms her down, comforts her, without even realising he's doing it.

And for that reason, she doesn't want to let go of him, doesn't want to force herself to pull away from her source of comfort. No, Jenna decides, she'll wait for Matt to make the first move, hold out until he's had enough or she's become too heavy, whichever comes first, allow him to pull away from her.

Consequently, the pair of them remain there in the BBC studios lobby area for a good few minutes, Jenna clinging to Matt as though her life depends upon it, Matt gripping Jenna tightly, kissing her head, neither of them quite ready to let go. It's Matt who finally makes the first move, lowering her gently to the ground and shifting his hands until he's gripping her arms, massaging her wrists.

"You OK?" he asks gently. Something about the way he utters those two words is enough to inform Jenna that Steven has told him what he was informed by Gemma on the phone the day before.

Jenna just nods; somehow she can't seem to find the words to manage anything verbal. She simply shrugs Matt's hands off of her arms and moves to hold his in her own, squeezing them in what she hopes is a reassuring gesture. Because she's OK; she really is, for the moment at least. As long as he stays with her, she'll be OK.

"You should have told me." His voice is soft, caring, the faintest traces of hurt in his eyes, enough to make Jenna feel guilty for not having confided in him. She didn't mean for him to find out this way, of course; she didn't mean to hurt him.

She didn't mean for him to find out at all.

"I know," Jenna whispers, unable to meet Matt's gaze. "I know, I'm sorry… I didn't know how, I didn't know how to tell anyone…"

"Hey, it's OK." He places his hand under her chin and tilts her head until she's forced to look up at him. "I understand. I wish you'd felt you could have told me, but I do understand." Then he frowns, peering at her worriedly. "Are you sure you should be here? It's only been… what… six days? You're going to make yourself feel worse; you're just going to make yourself ill…"

Jenna shakes her head firmly, cutting him off. "I'm fine," she insists. "I'm fine, honestly. Much better."

But Matt doesn't look convinced, still frowning. "You weren't fine yesterday," he points out. "You looked fine on Friday, and you struggled through and you made yourself ill yesterday, as far as I can make out." He lets go of her hands and suddenly his arms are wrapped around her waist, as though concerned she might keel over at any given moment. That in itself is a bad sign; up until today their friendship has never really extended as far as large amounts of physical contact. He's worried about her, Jenna can tell. Convincing him otherwise is clearly going to be no mean feat.

"I'm feeling much better, honestly," she tells him. "And anyway, we've got a day off tomorrow, what does it matter if I'm tired then? I'm fine, I'll be fine."

"You're sure?" Matt sighs. "You don't have to do this, Jenna; you really don't, not if you don't feel well enough…"

"But I do," she interrupts. "I'm fine, honestly. I'm absolutely fine, I will be fine today."

Matt sighs again, though Jenna can tell by the look on his face that she's won him over. "OK. If you're sure. But tell me if you start to feel worse, alright? Promise?" He turns now, his hand on the small of her back as he guides her towards the lift. "I'll happily take you home, I don't mind. You're not staying if you start to feel worse; I mean it, Jenna."

"Yes boss," she teases him, though at the same time nodding, aware that Matt isn't joking, not completely, at least. "I'm fine," she tells him more seriously, still holding his hand in the lift. "I promise."

Finally, Matt looks a little reassured. "Good," he says. "So you know what we're doing today?"

"Not the faintest idea, tell me?"

"Bit of everything, really. They're splitting them all up between the four of us, we get eight or nine each to read scenes with, I think. They did it mostly based on who we were working with yesterday I think, you've probably got a couple you were helping on Friday. So we do that, and then we sit back and enjoy the Britain's Got Talent esque bit, and then we get to escape and the casting directors decide who they want to call back next weekend. Oh, and you've made a friend, by the way."

"Hmm?"

"Little girl, about so high, long dark hair, funny name, gem stone, I think…"

"Sapphira?"

"Yep, that's it. You're going to teach her how to do ballerina turns with a weird name, apparently."

Jenna laughs. "Not quite sure how she got me to agree to that one, but yes, apparently. Fouettes."

"Can you do them? I didn't know you danced."

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Matt Smith," she tells him, giggling as she steps out of the lift.

If only the dancing was the only thing she was referring to, Jenna sighs grimly.

If only.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed :) Please do keep the reviews coming, they definitely make me write faster, and given I'm trying to get a few chapters ahead of what I'm uploading at the moment that would definitely be a bonus ;) If you'd like to leave me a Matt/Jenna prompt to work into an upcoming chapter then please feel free to do so either via review or PM and I will do my best. That said, they're staying as friends for the time being...**

**Emeline x**


	14. Chapter 14

**You're getting this earlier than planned because I'm working ahead of schedule; I'm about 500 words away from the end of chapter 16 now, which is told from Matt's point of view, as has been requested :) Sorry for not having a Matt's POV chapter further up the running order but that chapter makes the most sense to have as Matt, you'll see what I mean when I upload that one... ;) I'm warning you now that does mean there isn't so much Matt in this chapter- sorry about that, but this one is incredibly important in terms of the overall plot. As I've said before, it's not the point at which chapter 3 left off that's the main story, the main story is how that situation came to occur and, ultimately, whose fault it all is. Just bear that in mind when you read this chapter, and I promise there's a whole lot more Matt coming. You'll have to keep reviewing if you want it though ;)**

**I'm slightly nervous about uploading this one- all of you dancers out there, there's a certain scene in the middle I hope I haven't butchered. The lengths I went to in order to try and get it right I can't even tell you, so I hope it's not too terrible! On a different note, for all you lovely people who have complimented me on my writing style, while I'm not trying to copy anything or anyone in particular in writing this and I'd like to think I've at least started to develop something of my own style, it probably does show that I read (and still do occasionally!) a lot of Cathy Cassidy when I was younger and, more recently, I've been loving Hilary Mantel's Wolf Hall.**

**And last but certainly not least, huge cyber hugs to all my wonderful reviewers, emlouwor910, Guest (aww that was a particularly wonderful, detailed review, thank you), runyoucleverboy-remember (thank you, glad you're enjoying it :)), bethanria-proudwhoufflepuff, Planet of the Deaf, guest, PointeofDance, guest, vivaciousreader, the twenty third of november, SaveTheDaleks, zoz (thank you :)), CelestialSyren (glad you liked the hug, and your reviews still make me feel very special :P thank you. See above RE Matt- there's a whole Matt-central chapter coming very soon, promise! ), and J0b00m x2 :P (so glad you think so, thank you). Seriously, you lot are just incredible, I honestly can't thank you enough for all your kind words. I've finally gotten round to updating my fanfiction email to the one I use on my phone and I haven't quite gotten used to it yet, there's nothing nicer than thinking you've got more junk mail and it turns out to be a review. Thank you so, so, so much every single one of you, you are all wonderful and without you I would be nowhere with this fic. Really.**

**Chapter 14**

Sapphira is something of an anomaly as far as the Who's Companion casting workshop hopefuls go, Jenna has concluded by lunchtime. She must be one of the youngest- she's the youngest of the eight Jenna is assigned to rehearse scenes with, at least- and yet she also seems to be one of the ones taking it the most seriously. The others around the seven to twelve age mark (and rather a lot of the older ones, much to Jenna's amusement) are ridiculously excitable, constantly bombarding her with questions about the filming of Doctor Who, about what it's like working with Matt Smith, whether or not she enjoys playing Clara and how long she's going to remain in the role. Sapphira, on the other hand, takes the whole thing completely seriously, as seriously as Jenna takes her own auditions at twenty years Sapphira's senior.

As a general rule, Jenna decides, the younger ones are treating this as fun, a chance to meet the cast of their favourite television programme and pretend it's all real and they're right in the thick of it for the weekend, while the older ones are treating it as potentially their lucky break. Sapphira is either shyer than the other younger ones or has a remarkable work ethic aged seven and three quarters; something that Jenna hasn't entirely ruled out bearing in mind how seriously she remembers taking her own auditions at around the same age.

She knew, Jenna remembers; right from the start she knew full well that acting and dancing weren't just hobbies, not for her, at least. She had always wanted to perform. She had wanted to be a dancer at first, but even then she had considered acting hugely important; ballet isn't just about dancing, it's about performing, playing a part, she recalled her old dance teacher Miss Julia telling her, when she must have been about Sapphira's age. There had never been any doubt in Jenna's mind that she was going to be a dancer, and after that dream was ended rather abruptly, that she was going to be an actress. It was as though it had been hardwired into her; it was what she had to do, _needed_ to do, a burning desire she simply had to fulfil. The brief time she's spent with Sapphira over the past couple of days has been enough to convince Jenna she wasn't the only child ever to have felt that way.

She leaves Sapphira until last quite deliberately; if she has any time left over once she's finished running through scenes with all of her tutees (is that the right word? Her charges? Jenna isn't too sure) she'd rather Sapphira was the one she had extra rehearsal time with. Is that terrible, to have a favourite charge already? Quite possibly, though Jenna is already far too tired to care just an hour into the workshop. It's a no brainer, really; the adults make her feel incompetent, as though any minute now they'll identify her as a complete fraud making everything up as she goes along (because let's face it, Jenna realises, it's highly likely that some of them have a higher level acting qualification than she does) and the rest of the children are lovely, lovely but rather over-excitable. It's not so much a case of having a favourite, she decides, it's a case of wanting an easy life; given how hellish the last week has been, is that really so wrong of her?

She's starting to think maybe it was a mistake after all, coming into work today. She had hoped, with something of an air of naïve optimism, that it would make her feel a little more normal. That, and Jenna had genuinely believed that she was feeling physically better.

It's taken just under an hour for her body to prove her sadly mistaken.

Thankfully she's been given a chair in the small side room she's been sent to in order to run through scenes one to one with her charges, or Jenna doesn't know what she would have done. It's not so much that she's in unbearable pain anymore, it's more that she feels tired, physically and mentally exhausted. She had felt wonderfully refreshed when she had woken up that morning, but it's not even lunchtime and already Jenna feels as though she hasn't had a proper nights' sleep in days.

Jenna yawns, stretching out during her brief break before her penultimate and final charges to rehearse with switch over in a desperate bid to wake herself up, stopping rather quickly when pushing her arms up above her head, fingers laced together, pulls awkwardly at her surgical incision. It's beginning to heal now, not as red and angry as it had appeared immediately after her operation, though it's still far from healed and it still hurts like hell if she pulls at it awkwardly.

She gives up and groans, leaning back in her chair, deciding that if the choices are tired or uncomfortable she'd rather go with tired. Jenna is conscious that given everyone who knows about her operation thinks she's had a myomectomy rather than the far more drastic, evasive hysterectomy she's really had, it's going to start looking a little suspicious sooner or later if she continues for too long showing signs of still being in pain. Tiredness she can get away with for a little longer, she decides, horrific pain not so much.

In short, she needs to pull herself together, fast, or else everyone around her is going to think she's being pathetic, making an almighty fuss about nothing. Jenna has managed to convince herself of that much.

The door creaks open and a small figure emerges from the corridor, slowly, a little nervously. Sapphira pushes the door open completely and pauses in the doorway, contemplating, the same nervous look on her face as the first time she and Jenna encountered one another.

"Hi," Jenna tries, smiling as brightly as she can manage. "You're lumbered with me again, I'm afraid."

"What does that mean?" There's a faint accent to her voice that Jenna hasn't picked up on before, a faint hint of something foreign more or less lost to inner-city London.

"Lumbered, you mean? It means stuck with."

"I don't mind being stuck with you," Sapphira says sincerely; whether she simply didn't get the joke or she somehow realised that was what Jenna needed to hear, she isn't too sure. She frowns, head tilting. "Are you OK?" she asks.

"Hmm? I'm fine, I didn't feel very well yesterday but I'm fine now," Jenna insists. "Sorry, I was going to teach you fouettes yesterday, wasn't I… do you still want to learn?" She waits for Sapphira to nod eagerly. "I'll show you how to do them after we've rehearsed, OK? But only if you promise to work really hard."

Rehearsing the set scene is relatively straight forward, leaving a little time at the end to spare and so Jenna relents, deciding that there's definitely such thing as over-rehearsing, especially with children. She calls it a day with ten minutes to go and pushes her chair up against the wall, its back facing into the middle of the room.

"Take your shoes off and stand here," she tells Sapphira, leading her over. "Hand on the chair, like a ballet barre. Right, now turn your feet out." Slowly, painfully, she lowers herself down into a crouching position, pushing Sapphira's feet outwards. "Bring your right leg to passé."

"Hmm?"

"You probably don't know the terminology, do you? Right, leg up like a pirouette, knee turned out. OK, then bend your left knee- that's a plié- now straighten your right leg out in front of you, straighten your foot out… OK, then you open your right leg to the side and come up on tiptoes and open your arms; that's second en relevé. And now you stay on tiptoes and bring your right leg back into passé and close your arms again… good girl. Right, now do that again, keep your right foot straight this time, you're turning your toe inwards. And again…" She gives up trying to hold herself in a crouching position and sits down on the floor instead, pushing Sapphira's foot back into line. "OK, now this time, I want you to try doing a pirouette when you go into passé, just one, then stop when you're back facing me and plié again with your right leg out straight, can you do that?"

She wobbles a little the first time, but Sapphira more or less has it sussed holding onto the chair after a few attempts. Never mind acting, she should be having ballet lessons, Jenna reasons; not many kids could pick up a new turn so quickly, rhythmic gymnastics experience or otherwise. Her technique has a few flaws but she isn't bad, nothing a few back to basics lessons couldn't fix. Put her in some proper ballet classes and she could be brilliant.

Then again, given her own experiences as a child, Jenna isn't totally convinced pushing girls down the ballet route, talented or otherwise, is a particularly good idea. She looks Sapphira up and down, trying to ascertain how tall she is for seven. She's not entirely sure, but not very would be her guess. Maybe ballet training isn't such a brilliant idea after all.

"Am I doing it right?"

"You're doing it perfectly," Jenna assures her. "Brilliant. What you have to do is keep practising like that, and then when you get really good at it you can start doing it away from a barre and speed it up until you're turning properly."

Sapphira nods attentively, before stopping, closing her arms, bringing her right leg back down to the floor. "Now will you show me?"

Jenna shakes her head. "I can't, Sapphira, not today. Sorry." Given she's already concerned as to how she's going to manage to get herself back up off the floor without the incision running down her belly screaming in protest and filling her with a fresh wave of agony, attempting a series of fouettes turns is certainly a bad, bad idea.

Sapphira frowns. "Why not? I thought you said you could do them. And you're really good at teaching how to do them."

"Thanks," Jenna laughs. "I can, not half as well as I could when I was a bit older than you though."

"But you can still do them, right?"

"Not today."

"Why?"

"I…" Jenna pauses, contemplating, trying to work out how much to say. "I had an operation last week," she admits. "And so it's probably not a brilliant idea."

"What sort of operation?"

"Do you ever stop asking questions?" Jenna laughs.

"Sometimes."

"The sort that makes you worse for a while before you get better," she tells her carefully, managing with a little difficulty to pull herself up onto her knees, kneeling on Sapphira's eye level. She's not quite sure what makes her say it loud, why it's to a child she barely knows of all people that, ironically, she ends up being the most open she's been about this willingly so far. "But that's our secret, OK? You promise?"

"Why is it a secret?" Sapphira asks, frowning, her face a picture of confusion.

"Because… because I don't want everyone to know," Jenna tells her, suddenly rather worried she's allowed too much to slip. "It wasn't very nice and I don't want anyone to ask me about it, so I'd rather it stayed a secret and nobody knew."

"Oh OK. Sofia tells me lots of secrets she doesn't want anyone else to know."

"Like?"

"I can't tell you," Sapphira points out. "Or it wouldn't be a secret anymore."

"You certainly know how to keep a secret," Jenna laughs. "So you promise you'll keep mine too?"

"I promise," Sapphira insists. "I'm good at secrets. When people ask me I just say I don't know, and then they can't try and make me tell. And if they do try and make me tell anyway I just ignore them and don't say anything, because it's important to keep other people's secrets if you want them to like you and be your friend."

"Very true," Jenna agrees. "Good girl, I knew I could trust you. Right, I think you have to go and have your lunch now, and then I'm reading your scene with you after you've done your dance performance, OK? You'll be brilliant, I'm sure."

But Sapphira is still watching her, eyes wide, contemplating.

"Jenna?"

"Hmm?"

"Has it started getting better yet?" Sapphira asks, looking genuinely concerned.

"Yep, definitely getting better," Jenna tells her hastily. "Definitely. Go on, you don't want to miss your lunch."

"You've definitely made a friend there," Matt comments to Jenna as she emerges from the practise room just as he is making his way along the corridor towards the canteen, Sapphira skipping off ahead of her. "How did you manage that so quickly? Mine all lost interest once all their questions about flying the TARDIS and whatnot."

"Surprisingly easily, actually, all I did was promise to give her a dance lesson."

"Well it worked!" Matt points out. "Don't complain! Anyway," he says, his hand placed back against the small of her back, guiding her gently down towards the canteen, as though afraid if he doesn't steer her in the right direction, keep a close eye on her, she might disintegrate into nothingness, "I didn't know you could dance."

"That's because I can't!" Jenna laughs. "Not anymore, anyway."

"But you could?"

"Yeah, when I was about thirteen, not now!"

Matt nods towards Sapphira, just disappearing around the corridor ahead of them. "She seems to think you can."

"No she doesn't, I haven't actually demonstrated anything. I just gave her a dance lesson, there's a huge difference between being able to explain to someone how to do something and being able to do it yourself."

"Is there?"

"Course there is," Jenna insists. "You'd be perfectly capable of coaching someone at football if you put your mind to it, doesn't mean you can still play now."

"Oi! I'll have you know my footie skills are still rather fantastic, thank you!" Matt exclaims, feigning offence.

She laughs. "I'm sure they are, but you get the point."

"Suppose so. Seriously though, how has my sister never managed to get out of you that you used to dance? You have met my sister, right?"

"Yep, definitely met your sister," Jenna laughs. Matt's older sister was a professional dancer, if she remembered correctly, classical jazz on the West End. "I don't know, it just never came up, I guess. Anyway, not the same type of dancing."

"More of a ballerina, were you?" Matt grins. "I can see you in a tutu." He pulls his arm away when she reaches out to elbow him lightly. "Hey! What was that for? That was a compliment; I was paying you a compliment!"

"Really?" It's only now she stops to think about it properly that Jenna remembers his slightly more serious tone during that particular comment; he wasn't making fun of her. Teasing her a little, maybe, but not making fun of her.

He rolls his eyes at her light-heartedly, placing his hands on her shoulders and manoeuvring her gently until she's standing in front of him in the lunch queue. "What are you like? Of course it was a compliment, I'm hardly going to say I can imagine thirteen year old you resembled a hippo in a tutu, am I?"

She laughs him off, rolling her eyes in return. "After spending a year with you, Matt, Smith, nothing would surprise me."

He didn't mean to upset her, Jenna knows that. He wasn't serious when he said it; he never intended for her to take his words to heart. But somehow her brain doesn't want to allow her to believe it. No… no, it's not that her brain is trying to tell her that Matt thinks otherwise, Jenna decides, it's that his words are rapidly becoming distorted in her mind, twisted, until all she can focus on is the fact that he's probably right without even knowing it, that he's never even seen a picture of her aged thirteen in full ballet attire and still he most likely has a point. She's torn between wanting to raid her mother's photo albums the next time she's in Blackpool and wanting to keep as far away from them as possible, pretend to herself they don't exist.

She can't do anything about the past, after all. Maybe Matt's right without even realising it and she really did resemble a hippo in a tutu and pointe shoes, but there's no point giving it another moments' thought; even if he is, there's nothing Jenna can do about it now, fifteen years later.

Why waste time dwelling on the past when she can do something about the present, about how huge her thighs, her arms, her belly appeared to her in the mirror that morning?

She's going to have to stop getting changed in front of the mirror, Jenna sighs to herself. It's far too depressing, filling her with a hopeless feeling she just can't control any longer.

Somehow, and god only knows how, Jenna manages to survive lunch without drawing too much attention to herself. If anything, that's a result of being so tired and lacking in energy; for the first time in days she allows herself to think with her stomach rather than her brain, realises that allowing herself to eat is most likely going to boost her energy levels, making surviving the afternoon a little easier.

It's really not rocket science. Common sense, in fact.

The trouble is, common sense doesn't seem to count for an awful lot anymore, not to Jenna, at least.

All she can think about that afternoon when she's not in character with something else to focus on is how she's failed, how she's given into the temptation of a chicken salad sandwich and she's going to remain ugly and fat forever if she doesn't learn to control herself.

It's tiring, being this self-critical. It makes her feel hopeless, fills her with an almost overwhelming desire to curl up and sleep and forget all about Richard and Laura Scott and co from her school sixth form and having her uterus ripped out painfully and the fat, ugly pig that stares back at her whenever she ventures too close to a mirror.

Jenna can safely say she hasn't been this grateful to get into character and become somebody else for a while since A level drama.

Maybe it's a result of throwing her heart and soul into it, desperate for these few brief chances to escape the pain and unhappiness of being herself just for a while, but somehow Jenna manages to survive the next hour or so of reading set scenes with her charges without any mistakes, without looking too much as though she hasn't done much in the way of her own preparation because she's been too busy struggling to hold herself together. That said, she barely pays attention to how her charges do; her own part takes up all of her concentration. A chicken salad sandwich can't quite bring your energy levels up to normal when you skipped breakfast, and dinner last night, come to that.

Consequently, Jenna hasn't much of an idea as to who might be through and who is cutting it fine.

Her concentration is a little better once they've moved on to the singing/dancing/gymnastics/general showing off part; the pressure is off, Jenna has concluded, everyone will be far too preoccupied to notice if her eyes are closing and she's struggling to find an upright position in which she doesn't feel as though she's being stabbed in the stomach. Thankfully, she ends up sat next to Billie at the opposite end of a rather long row of chairs from Matt, meaning he doesn't have the opportunity to watch her intently and realise she's not quite alright after all.

Sitting still with the lights dimmed only makes Jenna feel even more tired than before. She manages somehow to remain alert for one of her mentees, Francesca's, singing performance, which isn't bad, but only keeps her eyes open for Sapphira's dancing from start to finish; it's not favouritism, it's quite simply because she's far more interested in dancing than she is in singing, and Sapphira is the only one of the dancers doing a style of dancing that really appeals to her.

She watches Sapphira closely, analysing every pointe of her feet, every turn out, every repositioning of her arms. Her feet are better, even since this morning, no longer sickling out sideways quite as often. Her flexibility is improved from her audition tape, her legs stronger; she jumps into her cartwheel so eagerly her hands just skim the floor, legs up back over her head in her Mexican stand. And yet there's still an awful lot she can do with her, Jenna decides, mind racing, suddenly experiencing the faintest traces of excitement. If she could get Sapphira going properly on fouettes and graduate her to a la seconde turns, transform her cartwheels into side aerials, sort her leg extensions until her left leg doesn't wobble and her right foot stays straight and pointed, she'd be in business.

There are a couple more singers after Sapphira (fairly average is Jenna's honest opinion, nothing particularly special, although the latter's acting was rather promising), and then the whole thing is wrapped up; the casting director stands up and thanks everyone for participating, explains that someone will be in touch to let them know whether or not they are through to a final casting workshop the following weekend. And then everyone starts filing out of the room and it's over, and Jenna allows herself to let out a soft sigh of relief. Just a few more minutes, she tells herself, just a few more minutes and then she can say her goodbyes and disappear off home and her job will be done until next weekend.

She loses sight of Matt and the others as they head off back down the corridor; Matt and Steven were a long way ahead of her before they even left the room and no one else appears to know about her operation, not as far as Jenna can tell, at least. She can't keep up, especially after a good two hours of sitting still. She feels stiff, hot and cold all at once, as though there's a plank of wood glued from her hips to the top of her ribcage preventing her from properly moving her torso.

Fresh air, Jenna decides, perhaps that will help. She's been stuck inside for the best part of today; perhaps some fresh air will wake her up, make her feel a little more normal before she has to brave the tube home. She's unlikely to get a seat at this time of day; standing on the central line, then the northern line, for just over half an hour in total is going to be far from pleasant if she still feels as stiff and uncomfortable on the tube as she does now. Fresh air is definitely the answer; it's the only solution Jenna can think of, anyway.

Let's face it, she sighs, it can't make her feel any worse.

Jenna slips out of the back door of the BBC television studios and into the garden area; she looks around first to ensure she's alone, before placing her hands down on the wall around the raised flower bed and leaning on it heavily, arching her back, attempting to loosen up her torso. She hisses in pain, straightening her back out quickly when a fresh wave of sharp pain shoots through her.

She hates this. She feels as though she can't do anything without either burning pain or that awful physical emptiness reminding her of all that she's been through in the past week, everything she's lost.

There's a sudden flurry of movement from the other side of the bushes and she jumps, startled; up until a few moments ago she had thought she was completely alone. She straightens herself up slowly, painfully, her left hand still leaning on the wall around the base of the flowerbed by means of supporting herself as she investigates.

Sat on the same wall on the opposite side of the bushes, legs dangling, feet pointed, looking down at the ground, is a small figure, a curtain of long, dark curls concealing her face.

* * *

**You might be starting to work out where this is headed now, bonus points if you are :)**

**I'm going away for a few days on what's the early hours of Sunday to most of you I'm afraid, to somewhere Jenna has been on holiday as it happens (not a stalker, I promise, she said it in an interview :P). I'll probably have time to do some writing while I'm there but unfortunately I doubt I'll be able to upload, however, I do promise to upload as soon as I get back, if you leave me lots of nice reviews :P And if you leave me lots of extra nice reviews, you can have chapter 15 before I go- that would mean the first chapter you'd get when I'm back would be the Matt central one. The choice is yours :)**

**Emeline x**


	15. Chapter 15

**Well being as you all asked so nicely, you can have this before I go on holiday :) Again, not so much Matt I'm afraid, but this one is possibly even more crucial to the plot- some of you clever people may work out what I mean by the end of this chapter, I've thrown in a few extra hints as this is what I'm leaving you with until Thursday/Friday... And provided you leave lots of nice reviews, you can have chapter 16, which is told from Matt's point of view and hopefully you're going to love, as soon as I get back on Thursday :) **

**Thank you so much again to all my wonderful reviewers, guest, Fandom-Lover316, LilliasCraven (sickling amendment is being made right after I've uploaded this, promise!), Vivaciousreader (that question should be answered fairly quickly :) and I think you might have done :P), PointeofDance, GreenAdventurer, ixPinkRoses, guest, librarykate, Phoebonacci, Fefie, guest, AlwaysSpoby (wow that's a huge compliment, thank you!), zoz and emlouwor910, you guys are absolutely fantastic and if any of you are ever in my part of the world I'm actually going to hunt you down and give you hugs for real. You have been warned :P **

**A tissue warning in advance, chapter 17, which I'm working on at the moment, I have made myself cry with. I cry over the most ridiculous things ever so you may well be absolutely fine, but just a warning... ;)**

**Chapter 15**

"Sapphira?" Jenna calls. "Sapphira, what are you still doing here? Shouldn't you have gone home by now?"

Sapphira looks up at her, seemingly just as startled by Jenna's presence as Jenna was by hers. "Sofi's not coming until four," she says quietly, looking down again. "She's got rhythmic gymnastics training. She has trials in September and she can't miss practice."

"So you're waiting by yourself until she can come to pick you up?" Jenna guesses.

"It's fine, I don't mind!" Sapphira insists quickly; she must have detected a hint of disapproval in her tone. "Sofi says it's really important she does well at trials or she won't get accepted into the GB Junior squad, and rhythmic gymnastics have to start out really early if they want to go to world championships."

"Let me guess, she told you to say that if anyone asked why you were left by yourself?"

Sapphira eyes her nervously, reluctant to commit herself either way.

"It's OK," Jenna says softly, sitting down beside her on the wall. "She's not going to get in any trouble, I promise. It's definitely your sister picking you up, yeah?"

"Yep, Sofia's coming at four," Sapphira repeats, adamantly enough to reassure Jenna. "Definitely."

"Well that's something. So you're just going to sit here by yourself for an hour?"

"No," Sapphira insists. "That would be boring."

"So?"

"So Sofi's meeting me at the tube station in White City."

Jenna's eyes widen. "No, no no no no, Sapphira, you're not walking through Central London on your own."

"Yes I am."

"No you're not, you're seven!" Jenna protests. "You're not hanging around a tube station by yourself, Sapphira, no way. Not happening."

Sapphira simply stares at her, a 'well-what-do-you-suggest-as-an-alternative' look if ever there was one.

"Do you even know the way?"

"I think so," Sapphira answers, suddenly not sounding quite so confident. "Probably, Sofi's brought me on the tube and home again every time since Friday. That's five times."

"And Central London's not exactly small," Jenna points out, sighing. "Do you know your sister's mobile number?"

"Yep."

"Tell me?" Jenna pulls her own phone out of her handbag, entering in the number, typing out a message. "'Meet me at Café Nero opposite the station, Sapphira.' That OK?"

"Sapphi."

"Sapphi? Yep OK, think I can manage that."

"And two kisses."

"Sure. Happy with that? You press send," she says, handing over her phone. "But you don't breathe a word about this to anyone, OK? You promise?"

"Why?"

"Because I don't think taking you for a hot chocolate without your mum's permission is in my contract."

"Oh, my mum won't mind."

"Even if she doesn't, the health and safety people who work here probably would. So you have to promise this stays our secret, OK?"

"OK, I promise."

"Good girl. Come on then." Jenna takes Sapphira's hand and leads her out of the back gate, not entirely sure how this current situation has come about. "Strictly off the record. As your… I don't know… your friend, not your mentor, OK? Something like that, anyway."

"So does Sofia look after you a lot?" Jenna asks a few minutes later in the Café Nero opposite the tube station, placing a hot chocolate and a fruit tea down on the table. She feels her phone vibrate in her pocket as she sits down slowly, awkwardly, placing Sapphira's hot chocolate in front of her, waving her away when she pulls out a handful of ten pence pieces and coppers, greatly resembling the contents of a child's piggy bank. "No, no don't worry about it, honestly. My treat," she tells her, checking her messages.

One message, Matt Smith: 'Have you already gone? Was going to offer you a lift home. Hope you're OK x'

She blushes a little at that; she can't remember him ever using kisses in a text to her before.

"Is that from your boyfriend?" Sapphira asks innocently.

"No it's not!" Jenna tells her, feeling her cheeks turning a darker shade of pink. "Definitely not!" She types out a quick reply assuring Matt she's fine, she just had to leave in a hurry and she'll see him soon, before putting her phone away. "Sorry about that, where were we? Does your sister look after you a lot?"

Sapphira pauses, contemplating, picking the marshmallows off the whipped cream on top of her hot chocolate. "Sometimes," she says carefully.

"How old is she?"

"Fifteen. Almost sixteen."

"What about your mum?"

"She… works a lot."

"Oh, OK. So Sofia looks after you when your mum's at work?"

"Sometimes," Sapphira says again. "She's at training a lot, and she doesn't live in the same house as me, so…" she shrugs.

"It's complicated, is it?" Jenna asks gently. She's always considered herself rather lucky to come from a 'traditional' family so to speak; Mum, Dad, one brother. She knew from plenty of her old school friends just how complicated families could get once parents divorced.

"Something like that," Sapphira says vaguely, stabbing at her final marshmallow with the end of her spoon, before holding it out.

"No thanks," Jenna waves it away. "You have it."

"OK." Sapphira pauses, contemplating, the faintest traces of a smile on her face. "Am I through to the final auditions?" she asks.

"I don't know," Jenna laughs. "And even if I did, I couldn't tell you."

"You don't know?"

"Nope. Nobody does yet, Steven and the casting directors are going to sit down tomorrow and decide."

"Oh, OK. So I have to wait?"

"Afraid so. Sapphira?" Jenna asks, attempting to change the subject.

"Hmm?"

"Have you ever thought about having ballet lessons?"

"A bit," Sapphira says vaguely. "Sofi has ballet lessons, she has to, for part of her rhythmic gymnastics training programme."

"But what about you, though? It normally takes weeks to get the hang of fouettes, and you more or less had it sorted in what, ten minutes? And your feet are gorgeous when you remember to keep them straight. I bet you'd be brilliant if you had a few lessons…"

Sapphira shakes her head. "Mum wouldn't agree to it."

"No?"

"Definitely not. She doesn't like Sofia doing so much rhythmic gymnastics as it is, but she can't stop her. She doesn't think she's going to make it onto the GB Junior team and she thinks Sofia will be really disappointed and she'll have wasted hours of her life she'll never get back for nothing. She says putting hours of your time into your talent is just setting yourself up for failure."

Jenna laughs, confused. "And yet she let you enter this competition?"

"Sofi talked her into it. She said it would be fun, and only for a few months max, not years." Sapphira pauses for a moment. "You could teach me ballet."

Jenna shakes her head. "No, definitely not. I'm so not a ballet teacher."

"You're good at teaching me, though."

"No, you're a fast learner," Jenna insists.

Sapphira blinks at her, brown eyes wide.

"Oh fine, you win," Jenna mock-sighs, admitting defeat. "If you make it through to the live shows, and I'm your mentor, and only if, I'll give you dance lessons. Deal?"

"Deal," Sapphira agrees, stirring the whipped cream into her hot chocolate. "Will you be able to show me how to do things properly by then?"

Jenna frowns, trying to remember what her consultant told her shortly before allowing her to discharge herself from the hospital. Six to eight weeks before she's allowed to do any light exercise, she thinks that was what the consultant said. If she's perfectly honest, she was struggling to process it all at the time, wasn't completely listening.

"Maybe. I'm not sure. We'll see, OK? This is all hypothetical anyway."

"Was it really horrible?" Sapphira asks.

"Hmm?"

"Your operation. It must have been a really horrible one if it's going to make you feel ill for that long," Sapphira says sympathetically.

What on earth is she supposed to say to that?

"It wasn't nice," Jenna says cautiously. "It wasn't nice at all. But I can live with it; I thought I was going to have more treatment afterwards, but it turns out I don't. So I tell myself it could have been a lot worse."

Sapphira just nods, silent. It's so different from the reaction she's become rather used to getting on the subject of her operation over the past week that it takes Jenna by surprise a little, causing her to laugh.

"You're not going to ask me what I had done?" she asks.

Sapphira shakes her head. "You never ask," she says. "It's rude to ask. The best thing to do is to wait for people to tell you, that way you don't upset them. And then if they do tell you, you know you're a good friend and they told you because they wanted to."

"Wise words. Did your mum tell you that?"

"No," Sapphira says, twirling her spoon in her hot chocolate mug. "Nadine did."

"Who's Nadine?"

"Mum's old social worker," Sapphira reveals matter-of-factly. "Except she and Mum didn't get on, so Nadine stopped being her social worker and now Mum has a new one called Helen. Helen's nice," she shrugs. "Not as nice as Nadine was, but she's nice. Sometimes she brings my little sister and me chocolate." And then she seems to realise she might have said too much, and suddenly she goes silent, twirling her spoon in the remainder of her hot chocolate again. "Is it scary, performing in front of lots of people?" she asks at last. It's fairly obvious to both of them that she's attempting to change the subject.

"It's a bit scary the first few times, but you get used to it," Jenna tells her. "And anyway, nerves are good, you need some adrenaline. I haven't done a lot of theatre though, I did some professional theatre when I was a bit older than you, and I was in a couple of plays and a pantomime a few years ago, but that's it."

"What were you in?"

"Oh, nothing exciting. The first job I had was when I was ten, I was in a musical called Summer Holiday as a bridesmaid."

"Did you have to audition?"

"Um Hmm. I had to sing happy birthday to myself."

"You did?" Sapphira giggles.

"Yep. I never did anything as exciting as what you're getting to do though."

"Might be getting to do," Sapphira points out. "It's not definite. It's only exciting if I get to do the live shows."

"Hey, was this weekend not exciting?" Jenna teases. "Am I not exciting?"

"No, you're a normal person. A normal person, with a really cool job, but still a normal person. I like talking to you, but I don't like talking to you because you get to be Clara sometimes, I like talking to you because you're nice."

Jenna pauses, pensive. "You know, I think that's the biggest compliment any of you lot have given me all weekend."

"What does that mean?"

"Compliment? It means… if I was to say to you that I like your hair, I'd be paying you a compliment. Does that make sense?"

"So it's basically saying something nice to someone?"

"Yep, that's quite a good way of putting it," Jenna agrees. "Saying something nice to someone, that's it exactly."

Sapphira is silent for a few moments, looking down at the remains of her hot chocolate. "Sorry," she says. "Sofia will probably be here soon."

"No, don't apologise, it's fine," Jenna insists, voice gentle. "I don't mind, honestly. If I wasn't here with you right now I'd only be sat in my flat by myself, and that's not very exciting, is it?"

"Do you live by yourself?"

"No, I live with three of my best friends from school, but they've probably gone out for the day."

"Oh, OK. Do you live in a mansion?"

"No!" Jenna laughs. "Why would I live in a mansion?"

"Because you're famous."

She smiles, amused. "Well, I hate to disappoint you, but I live in a perfectly normal flat with three other girls. It's not that exciting. Plus two bathrooms isn't actually a lot when there are four of you all wanting to be out the door at the same time, trust me. Nightmare."

Sapphira giggles. "You always have a friend if you live with four of them though, that's nice. It's really quiet at mine when my little sister goes to her dad's for the weekend."

"Peace and quiet is nice sometimes, though," Jenna points out. "There's rarely any peace and quiet in a house of four girls, trust me. How old is your little sister?"

"Three. Her name's Sienna."

"Sienna, that's pretty. So Sofia, Sapphira and Sienna?"

"Yep. Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"Yeah, a brother. Older."

"What's his name?"

"What is this, the Spanish inquisition?" Jenna laughs. "Ben, his name's Ben."

But Sapphira isn't looking at her anymore; instead, she's gazing out of the window at the front of the café, waving at a teenager with the same long, dark curls and wide brown eyes, stockier, a sports hold-all over one shoulder and a large hoop-shaped case over the other.

"Is that Sofia?"

Sapphira nods, getting down from her chair. "Thanks for the hot chocolate."

"You're welcome," Jenna smiles. "Thanks for the company…"

But Sapphira is already gone, skipping off out of the café towards her sister. She begins to disappear off into the distance, leaving Jenna all alone once more, but right at the last moment she turns around and waves, pausing for a moment until her sister grabs her hand and tugs her along, and then she's gone, quite possibly forever, faded away into a Sunday afternoon rush to the tube station.

Jenna wasn't expecting to be quite as sorry to see her go as she is.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed- more dialogue than usual in this one, next chapter (Matt chapter) will go back to normal format. If you've listened to the Nerdist podcast interview Jenna you may recognise certain details woven into this chapter- quick disclaimer, I do not own the Nerdist or the interview, I just own my ipod unfortunately. **

**I'm now off to where Jenna once declared to her mum that when she grew up she wanted to be a swan (if you've seen a certain interview then you know where I mean :P), reviews would be absolutely wonderful as ever and would guarantee a quicker update when I get back. If we can reach 225, I promise to upload chapter 16 the second I get back home through the door, not even joking. That would be incredible, but it's a big ask I know. Your choice ;) Thank you once again to every single one of you, and although I won't have a laptop to upload with I will probably have internet in some shape or form, so feel free to PM if you want to chat. Otherwise, have a good week, and check back Thursday/Friday for chapter 16, when exactly is review dependent :) xx**


	16. Chapter 16

**True to my word, I literally got through the door about 15 minutes ago by the time this gets uploaded, writing the author's note always takes me longer than I think it will! The reason you're getting this now is because of all you wonderfully amazing people who took the time to review, especially those who reviewed after this went past the 225 quota I set, the next chapter was guaranteed the minute I got home and you guys still took the time to review, you guys are super ultra amazing. Thank you so much every single one of you who reviewed or PMed for your support so far with this fic, seriously. You are all amazing: LilliasCraven (I'll get to your PM later tonight, promise! Looking forward to it :)), ixpinkroses (noted, I'll correct that :P), Pointeofdance, guest, runyoucleverboy-remember (I wish I was a swan, I could have flown up the mountains instead of trudging up them!), GoodKarma92 (Oscar is making an appearance rather soon as it happens...), SunnySmile1324, gallifreyirishrose (and I sort of love you for saying that :D), guest, librarykate, Vivaciousreader, JustAWhovian, Dobbys-tea-cosy (fab name btw :D), guest, guest, guest, SaveTheDaleks, Bingo the Cat, guest, emlouwor901 (again, I'll get to your PM later tonight, promise!), McKenzieAnne (don't worry at all, thanks for your review, and there were actually 69 in my year the past 2 years, so even tinier!), Planet of the Deaf, guest and copiesofclara (you will be getting a PM as soon as I've unpacked because your review was seriously wonderful, thank you). **

**Here is the Matt chapter as promised, hopefully you'll like it although you might not be so happy with me by the ending... ;) One final thing, this fic was inspired in part by a newspaper article (which some of you may have already found...), and partly by two albums by two of my favourite singers of all time (question my taste in music all you will :P) The lyrics at the start of this chapter are taken from the main song that inspired this fic from the first, and next chapter from the second. Just seemed like a good point to slot them in. **

**Chapter 16**

_Every time I see your bubbly face,_

_I get the tingles in a silly place,_

_It starts in my toes, makes me crinkle my nose,_

_Wherever it goes I always know,_

_That you'll make me smile, please stay for a while, now,_

_Just take your time, wherever you go._

_Bubbly, Colbie Cailat_

She reminds him of a china doll; a slight, perfectly formed china doll. It's something to do with her facial features, he's long since first concluded, something about the shape of her eyes and the positioning of her lips, the way her cheeks dimple when she smiles and her long dark hair framing her face that causes her to resemble a china doll, the sort someone might collect and keep beautifully presented in a display cabinet. It's something to do with that and her being so small and petite that leads to more or less every expression that passes her face coming across rather adorable, to Matt, at least. Even when she's angry she still manages to look far too endearing for him to take her completely seriously, though Matt would never tell her so, of course. He doesn't imagine it would go down brilliantly.

He doesn't think she realises how pretty she is. Pretty, more so than beautiful, he has decided; somehow beautiful implies grown-up, elegant, sophisticated. Not that he's saying she isn't all those things, of course not, but in addition to all that she has an air of innocence about her, and something else inexplicable in her very essence that makes her seem a little younger than she is, incapable of not coming across adorably cute, he's sure of it, no matter how hard she might try. Perhaps it's her being only 5''2, which makes her, in Matt's book, positively tiny.

She'd kill him if she ever knew, of course. But that's perfectly fine, because he has no intention of ever telling her.

That's not the point, though. The point is that she may never know it, but she is beyond shadow of a doubt the prettiest little thing he's encountered in all his life, and she's so humble that he's almost certain she hasn't the faintest idea how gorgeous she is. He's thought it ever since he first met her in the basement of the BBC television centre; a year and a half of working with her on Doctor Who has only confirmed it to him. To Matt, at least, Jenna Coleman is unbelievably pretty, a perfect china doll in human form.

And sometimes, just sometimes, he wishes he was brave enough to tell her.

It was always out of the question, right from the moment they had met. Matt hadn't known Jenna prior to her Doctor Who audition but he had known her now-ex boyfriend, Richard, for a number of years. He and Richard were good friends and Matt would never do anything to compromise that friendship, and so in his mind Jenna had been strictly off limits, right from the start. Richard was great, Jenna was one of the loveliest, most generous people he had ever had the fortune to meet; they were perfect for each other, Matt was sure of it. How could he not want them to be happy together?

And so, bearing all of that in mind, Matt had resigned himself not particularly reluctantly to being merely Jenna's friend and left it quite happily at that.

It had only been after Richard had dumped her so completely out of the blue that everything had changed.

He's not quite sure how it started. When he visited her at her Cardiff flat on his first day back in the UK, perhaps, after Richard had asked him to check in on her, worried that Jenna had fallen to pieces in the aftermath of their breakup… could it have been then? Matt remembers how beautiful she had looked, even then, sleep deprived, heartbroken, hair a mess, dark circles below her eyes. She had looked tired, drained exhausted, defeated, desperately unhappy; all of the above, and yet still she had been beautiful. Matt highly doubted it was physically possible for her to not look beautiful, regardless of the situation she found herself in.

He had managed to push it out of his mind a little for a few days, until he had stumbled across by accident those photographs of her on the set of Death Comes to Pemberley in full Georgian attire. She had looked delicate, beautiful, every inch the part. It had suited her, that white nineteenth century gown, bringing out the colour in her cheeks, the vivid dark brown of her irises. He had sent her a text telling her so in the only way he knew how, teasing her, a part of him hoping she would see through his light-hearted jokiness and realise he was being perfectly serious, paying her a compliment. Perhaps not; he hadn't received a reply back from her.

He had gotten over his childish crush for the next couple of weeks; remarkably, even whilst she had been working alongside him filming the Doctor Who Christmas special. Perhaps it had been something to do with the time constraints; they had all known that the episode was going to have to be filmed in record time thanks to the Who's Companion project, that long hours were necessary in order to meet the deadline. Perhaps he had been too tired and preoccupied to notice her, or perhaps he had simply known that there was no room for distractions for the next couple of weeks, that if he allowed his mind to stray and whatever it was developing inside him to affect his scenes with Jenna it was all going to go horribly wrong, whatever it was, before it had even begun.

Whatever the reason, Matt had managed to sail through those weeks filming on the Christmas special, had barely thought about Jenna during that week and a half off between filming and the Who's Companion casting workshop.

It had only been during that first day of the casting workshop that those feelings had returned.

Matt hadn't quite been aware of what was happening at first. He had been a little surprised at himself when he had grabbed hold of her hand and pulled her into the conference room after him on that first day, not entirely sure what had gotten into him. The best way to describe it, he had decided in hindsight, was that he had sensed it, somehow he had sensed that there was something not quite right, and he had wanted to remain as close to her as possible. It had seemed a little ridiculous at the time, he had been embarrassed, but now, in light of recent events, Matt realised he had been right.

He had known, somehow; he had known that she wasn't herself the moment he had first laid eyes on her in the car park, but Jenna had put on such a carefully calculated façade that she had made Matt doubt himself, caused him to dismiss it as nothing.

Now, he only wished he had had more courage in his convictions.

It horrified him; the thought that his beautiful, delicate little china doll had dragged herself into work just two days after being discharged from hospital, after going through surgery, and felt as though she couldn't tell anyone. She had to be struggling with the pain to not come into work on Saturday, he had realised with a strange feeling in his heart he couldn't quite explain. He couldn't remember Jenna ever taking a single day off work in all of the year and a half he had worked with her, not one; it had to be bad to cause her to admit defeat.

He hadn't been completely sure what a myomectomy was when Steven had first told him, had needed to conduct a quick Google search when he had arrived home that afternoon in order to clarify the matter. Embarrassingly, just reading the NHS information page he had selected first had caused him to blush, and that initial embarrassment had quickly transformed into self-loathing. This was exactly why she hadn't felt able to tell him, Matt had realised, she hadn't wanted to tell him because she had thought he would be so horribly male and awkward about it, and she couldn't have been more right. Just reading about it had made him cringe; he dreaded to think how he might have reacted had she tried to tell him. He never would have forgiven himself if she had tried to tell him and he had gone all awkward and embarrassed, failed her and made a joke of it all when she had badly needed him to be there for her.

He had planned on texting her that night when he arrived home from work, but everything he came up with sounded horribly cliché, to the point that he had decided perhaps it would be better to wait until he saw her in person instead- the following day, as it had turned out.

She had felt warm when he had pulled her into his arms and picked her up; wonderfully, reassuringly warm and solid. She had looked a little peaky, felt rather fragile in his arms, but she was there, she was warm; she had smelt of cherry blossom and something fruity he couldn't quite place. And as he had held her in his arms, hoping he had succeeded in striking the perfect balance between holding her as close as possible and not crushing her too tightly to his chest, only too conscious that it had still been less than a week since her operation and she was still most likely rather sore, Matt had realised rather rapidly that he didn't want to let her go. He didn't care if she said she was fine, somehow he had sensed that she wasn't. It was something about the way she had felt in his arms: she had clung to him, not so much returning his embrace as hanging on tightly for dear life. And even then, she felt weak, not quite right, still tired and in the post-surgery recovery process. If it had been up to him, Matt would have put her in a taxi and sent her straight back home, made her promise to take it easy for the next few days and not even contemplate coming to work again until she felt completely recovered and back to her usual self.

Unfortunately, Matt had sighed at the time, he didn't have that kind of power over her.

That said, she had seemed a lot better by lunchtime. Still not back to normal, admittedly, but an awful lot better than she had appeared to him when she had first arrived for work that morning. It was difficult to know quite what to do; make too much of a fuss of her and she might grow to resent him and push him away, and then he wouldn't be able to help her at all, Matt knew that. And so he had decided to play it by ear, to be as normal as possible around her and hope that this time, she felt she could confide in him.

She disappears before he has a chance to say goodbye to her at the end of the Sunday casting workshop. He searches around for a while attempting to find her, struggling to believe she could have disappeared so quickly, but she's gone, he concludes ten minutes later, she's already gone.

Somehow, that makes Matt feel a little rejected at first. He wanted to be able to say goodbye to her properly, to hug her tightly and offer to drive her home, because he knows now she's been relying on the tube this weekend, not yet able to drive after her operation. It hurts a little that she didn't stick around to say goodbye, even though he knows they'll be seeing each other again the following weekend, for the final auditions round of Who's Companion.

But then he stops to think about it properly, and suddenly Matt is worried. What if Jenna had been feeling so awful by the end of the workshop that she hadn't felt she could hold herself together any longer, that the only option she had was to disappear as quickly as possible, endure a long journey home on the underground all by herself, in pain with no one there with her? He had tried earlier on in the day to make her feel as though she could tell him anything, that she didn't have to cope with this all alone, but Jenna could be remarkably stubborn sometimes, he knew that much. The thought of her all alone on the central line in agony tugs at his heart strings in a way that Matt can't quite explain, but there's no point thinking about that now, he tells himself, not quite as firmly as he would have liked. There's nothing he can do about it now, she's already gone.

He texts her anyway, just in case.

'Have you already gone? Was going to offer you a lift home. Hope you're OK x'

He can't remember ever making use of kisses in his previous texts to her, but this, Matt tells himself, is an emergency. An absolute emergency if ever there was one.

She texts him back a few minutes later, five at the most, though somehow those five minutes feel like a lifetime: 'Sorry, had to get going quickly, something came up. I'm fine, don't worry about me. See you soon x'

What Jenna doesn't seem to realise is that, as of late, he always worries about her. He can't help it. She's too precious not to worry about.

Matt is stuck now in something of a dilemma; 'see you soon', she said, but how soon is soon? Although that's not the question as such, the real question is this: how soon can he attempt to arrange to see her again without giving her the impression he's fussing over her (which he is, of course, he just doesn't want her to know that)? Despite having become good friends over the past year and a half or so they've never really done a lot of meeting up outside of work, quite possibly because they see so much of each other while working in such intensity. They've been to the theatre together a couple of times, met up at Steven's when invited round, and they've done rather a lot of nights out together, but that isn't exactly what Matt has in mind this time. He's not convinced Jenna is in any fit state to be taken on a night out, plus she could well still be on a strong enough dosage of painkillers that drinking isn't recommended.

That said, maybe a night out is safe territory, Matt ponders. Perhaps she would cotton on quicker if he tried to invite her over for coffee or a movie night, perhaps it not being something they did regularly outside of work, just the two of them, would make it all the more obvious to Jenna that he was checking up on her. The last thing he wanted, after all, was for her to realise what he was up to and rant at him about treating her like a child.

And so that was how Matt ended up inviting Jenna out to a Primrose Hill party with him on Wednesday night.

He's still not completely convinced she's up to a night of partying, but he manages to reassure himself that it will be fine, that perhaps it will do her good. Normality; maybe that will make her feel better, perhaps the best thing he can do for her is to encourage her to get back into a normal routine again. That was fairly normal for them while back in London on filming breaks, the Primrose Hill party scene. It's a fool-proof plan, Matt decides, all he has to do is make sure Jenna doesn't drink too much; he can't believe she isn't still on pain medication. And worst case scenario, if it's too much for her and she's shattered after a couple of hours he's more than happy to take her home and look after her. As plans go, it's pretty perfect.

The only slight snag, Matt realises later, is that in general, a night out involves three of them minimum: himself, Jenna and Richard. Plus a handful of his and Richard's mutual London-based friends, usually, Jenna's housemates, and anyone else they know who happens to be around. Jenna still isn't quite over Richard, he knows that, no matter what she'd have him believe. Perhaps the whole thing would just drag up too many now-painful memories.

No, Matt decides, no, he's being a little ridiculous. He knows for a fact that Richard is currently in Scotland with his family, meaning there's no chance of him and Jenna accidently bumping into each other. If all of the usual crowd went out anyway it would be no different than all the times they had done so whilst Richard was away filming Game of Thrones or one of his other projects, he tells himself. It wouldn't upset her, he's sure it wouldn't, and after all, he can't keep tiptoeing around her forever. Not over Richard, anyway.

Jenna seems fairly enthusiastic when he texts her (not that an awful lot as to the person's tone can be gaged from a text, but still, Matt would like to think she's enthusiastic). She tells him that it sounds like a good plan and she'll definitely be there, anyway, which is something. He texts her back; he's looking forward to it, he tells her, it's been too long since they've done this.

It's only when he sits down and thinks about it that Matt realises it hasn't actually been that long after all; the last time they two of them went on a night out together it was at Comic Con, just over a month ago.

A hell of a lot has happened in that month and a week.

Even Jenna's flatmates seem to approve of his plan. Matt had been a little nervous about inviting them, worried that they might argue that it was too much too soon, that there was no way Jenna was up to it and he was only going to exhaust her. But if Becky, Gemma and Kate really do think that then they do an awfully good job of concealing it, telling him they think it's a brilliant idea, quite possibly just what their friend needs. But if would be great if he could help them keep a close eye on her alcohol consumption if he wouldn't mind, because she's still on the painkillers. They think, anyway- she's been a bit vague about it.

Nothing new there then, Matt sighs to himself.

Come Wednesday night it ends up being seven of them going out in Primrose Hill: Matt himself, Jenna, Becky, Gemma and Kate her flatmates, and two of Matt and Richard's mutual friends from before Matt had met Jenna, but whom Jenna had known vaguely through Richard, Oscar and Chris. Hopefully inviting them along wouldn't remind Jenna of Richard; Matt didn't think so, the two of them had been out with Oscar and Chris without Richard being there plenty of times before- admittedly, only ever whilst Jenna and Richard were together in the past, but still, plenty of times. It'll be fine, Matt tells himself, of course it will. It'll be fine.

As horribly cliché as it sounds, Matt can't help but marvel at how pretty she looks when she and Gemma and Becky and Kate arrive together, a few minutes after himself, Oscar and Chris. She's wearing a loose black dress, mid-thigh length, black heels that make her only five inches shorter than him as opposed to her usual almost half a foot. Her hair hangs loosely curled around her face, her makeup subtle, and she looks beautiful, Matt realises, she looks well and truly beautiful. Who cares if it's cliché, it's the truth, there's no other way of expressing it. It's really quite simple; she, Jenna-Louise Coleman, looks beautiful, possibly the most beautiful she has in person in all the time he's known her. That, and he, Matt Smith, is beginning to care for her in something more than close friend capacity.

True to his word, Matt keeps a close eye on Jenna at the start of the evening. It's partly the painkiller issue and partly the fact that she hasn't been out drinking in weeks, coupled with worry that despite her putting on a brave face, maybe she's not quite as OK as she makes out after all. He plans to make sure he's sat next to her in the first bar, close enough to keep an eye on her, close enough to drape his arm along the back of her chair protectively and pretend he's just stretching out his arm. But somehow Oscar manages to weave his way in front of him as they sit down and Matt ends up at the wrong end of the opposite side of the bar table, looking at her diagonally across a group of seven, about as far from her as it's physically possible to get within the current setup.

He's not close enough, Matt realises with a sinking feeling in his heart, he's not close enough to her to monitor her drinking, properly, at least.

He's simply going to have to trust her flatmates to do it for him and hope that between the three of them, they'll be able to do as thorough a job of it as he knows he would have done solo.

And so Matt allows Jenna her first cocktail without fuss, reassuring himself that even if she's still getting over the loss of Richard she certainly isn't stupid, that Gemma and Becky are close enough to keep an eye on her, plus they live with her; they've probably got a better idea of how she's coping at the moment than he has, they won't let her overdo it. It's only when she turns down the shot Oscar offers her that Matt properly allows himself to relax; she knows what she's doing, he tells himself, she'll be sensible. Maybe he needs to switch off of babysitting duty for the night and enjoy himself and stop fretting over her so much. She's sensible; she knows what he's doing.

He's only a _little_ bit drunk by the time they move on to the clubs. Not _drunk_ drunk; just happy drunk, slightly-out-of-it drunk, forget-about-your-troubles drunk. After this past week of the Who's Companion casting workshop and worrying about Jenna almost constantly, maybe that's not such a bad thing.

If Matt is perfectly honest, rather a lot of the night's events pass him by after that. He remembers going on to have a couple of drinks too many, he remembers doing a mean drunken giraffe while dancing wildly with Gemma and Chris, vaguely recalls Oscar getting a little too close to Jenna for his liking in the far corner of the dance floor. He remembers losing sight of her around midnight, Kate telling him she's gone home with a smirk on her face that his alcohol-addled mind can't quite make any sense of. He remembers dancing some more before Gemma and Becky and Kate and Chris drag him into a cab and the next thing he knows it's morning; he's lying down the middle of his own bed in his London flat with a splitting headache and a handful of scrambled memories of the night before.

Matt groans, rolls over, throwing his pillow down on top of his head in a somewhat desperate bid to block out the faint traces of sunlight seeping in through his bedroom curtains. How much did he have to drink last night? A hell of a lot, judging by the pounding of his brain against his skull, just about set to explode. He wasn't planning on getting drunk last night, he remembers that much, he was planning on staying as close to sober as possible in order to keep an eye on Jenna…

Jenna.

Matt springs bolt upright the moment her name enters his head, eyes wide, the events of last night and Kate's comment when he remarked that Jenna had disappeared suddenly all coming together to make perfect sense.

"Shit," he mutters to himself. "Shit."

Why is it that when it comes to his beautiful, perfect china doll, his friends have a bloody nasty habit of getting in first?

* * *

**Hope you don't hate me too much- if you don't yet, you will by next chapter ;) Please feel free to register your complaints via PM/review, reviews would be wonderful as always and perhaps some of you clever people might be able to guess where I'm going with this come next chapter... chapter 18 is finished so expect chapter 17 in the next couple of days or so, if you leave me lots of nice reviews of course :P And more Matt coming if you want it! xx**


	17. Chapter 17

**Being as AlwaysSpoby asked so nicely, you can have this chapter tonight :) Glad you all enjoyed the Matt chapter, you may enjoy this one, you may hate me ;) My favourite English teacher once told me that sometimes with creative writing it's better to leave some things unsaid; I've tried to work with that for this chapter. I also wanted to try and achieve the effect of the reader knowing more than the character whose point of view the story is being told from- it wasn't easy to do at all, so hopefully I've pulled it off. That may make absolutely no sense by the end of the chapter, but if it does please do let me know :) To answer some questions I've been asked a lot in reviews/PMs: **

**1) there will be more Matt chapters soon, it's just this part of the story is really Jenna's to tell, later it will be Matt's turn**

**2) there are a couple more dialog heavy chapters coming up very soon :) I'm trying to strike a balance between both at the moment, some chapters seem to flow better with lots of dialog and some seem to work better without. So I'm aiming for a healthy balance to keep you all happy, but one which suits the mood of the chapters in question.**

**3) there will be a proper description of Oscar in a couple of chapters' time; I've deliberately left one out for the time being because I don't want you to focus on what he looks like, it's more his role in the story that matters at this point (see first paragraph). Hopefully when I pull all the various elements of this together you'll get a proper payoff and realise what I was banging on about :P**

**Huge thanks as ever to all my wonderful reviewers and everyone who PMed: LilliasCraven, the 23rd of November, copiesofclara, what a day we had, emlouwor910, planet of the deaf, runyoucleverboy-remember, pointeofdance, guest, goldfish57 (oh wow, thank you!), zoz, celestialsyren (you haven't failed at all, thank you so much for your review :)), ailes du neige, vivciousreader, guest, Dobbys-tea-cosy, j0b00m, librarykate (I'm not answering any of those questions yet, sorry ;)), Fandom-Lover316, ClaratheSnogbox (aww thank you!), remembermewhen, RiverSong98, and alwaysspoby, virtual Welsh cakes coming your way. You guys are just fab, I honestly can't tell you that enough. **

**Don't hate me too much, and maybe have some tissues at hand... ;)**

**Chapter 17**

_He kissed you on the lips and opened your eyes,_

_You had to catch your breath, got such a surprise,_

_And you almost forgot how it feels when you live in his lie._

The first thing Jenna is aware of when she awakes the following morning is the pain. It's horrific; the worst it's been since she discharged herself from hospital by a long shot.

Scrap that, scrap horrific. It's not just horrific, it's bordering on unbearable.

She lets out a soft cry of distress, pained, attempting to roll onto her side and curl up into a ball and shut it all sleep claims her again and the pain fades into nothingness, but something stops her: a weight resting on top of her, crushing her, pressing down painfully on the still-healing incision running down her belly. She moans in pain, a little panicked, breathing restricted, body aching. It hurts, it hurts like it hasn't before and it feels _wrong_, it feels as though the weight on top of her is pushing what remains of her internal organs in her abdomen down into the hollow cavity left behind from her hysterectomy, and she doesn't like it, it feels weird, wrong, and she doesn't like it, she doesn't like it…

Somehow, god only knows how, Jenna manages to wriggle free, rolling out from beneath the heavy weight pressing down on her and sitting up, looking around blearily, still half asleep. She throws her arms back behind her to support herself when her stomach muscles fail to spring into action and hold herself up, arms shaking a little in pain and fear.

This isn't her bedroom, Jenna realises quickly. This isn't her bedroom, it's strange, unfamiliar; the bed sheets smell of the wrong fabric conditioner.

That, and there's a man in the other side of the bed.

She's naked, confused, disorientated and fighting back tears the pain is so horrific at the edge of somebody else's bed, trembling, not entirely sure how she got there.

It's only when the body in the other side of the bed stretches out, rolling over in his sleep, that Jenna identifies him as Oscar.

Oscar from the night before, Oscar as in close friend of Matt and Richard.

"Shit," Jenna groans under her breath. "Oh shit."

She's never done this before. She's never done this before and she's never planned on doing it, because let's face it, who in their right minds would plan an encounter like this? She'd always prided herself on being far too sensible to ever engage in something like this, on having far too much self-respect to stoop so low.

Except that she has, of course. Most people make this mistake in their late teens to early twenties, and yet here she is at the supposedly grown up and sophisticated age of twenty seven, just having woken up in somebody else's bed with little idea as to how she got there for the first time in her life.

She feels ashamed. She feels ashamed and dirty and humiliated, and she can't even remember how it came about at this point in proceedings.

How the hell did she manage to get herself so drunk last night? Jenna tries to remember, shivering and shaking, a particularly foul combination of pain and upset and cold. She wasn't even drinking heavily last night; she had been so careful, knowing that alcohol and the painkillers she's still taking around the clock weren't exactly a match made in heaven.

Except she must have had more than she had planned on drinking, Jenna scolds herself angrily, well and truly humiliated. How else did she come to stumble into bed with Oscar and not remember a thing about it?

Oscar rolls over in his sleep causing the mattress to lurch, and Jenna jumps, a little shocked, a little horrified at this harsh reminder that there's someone else here, that somehow she's managed to wake up at his house at… at 5.47am after her first night out in roughly six weeks and she can't remember how the hell it happened. Maybe that was the problem? Maybe the fact that she hasn't touched a drop of alcohol in that time coupled with the painkillers, her current permanent tired state and the lack of food in her system caused her body to react far more quickly to a couple of cocktails than normal, leading to her becoming drunk far more quickly than usual? Maybe. Jenna can recall with near to perfect clarity having two cocktails at the first bar now she thinks about it, turning down a shot or two, but after that everything is a blur.

No, not everything… she remembers dancing with Oscar, flirting with him, in a club, maybe? She remembers him taking her hand and pulling her to one side, away from the rest of the group, and telling her she was beautiful, she remembers those voices in her head springing into action as if on cue the very moment that word escaped his lips.

Because she isn't beautiful, of course, Jenna knows that. She isn't beautiful at all. People can tell her otherwise in an attempt to make her feel a little better to their hearts' content, but she knows, she knows full well they're only trying to be nice. Each and every time she looks at herself in the mirror now she sees herself for what she truly is, sees a fat, ugly reflection blinking back at her, horrified at the mere sight of herself. It doesn't matter that she weighs herself obsessively enough now to know that she's now the lightest she's been in ten years; how can that count for anything when her thighs look colossal, her cheeks look chubby, her arms, her belly, her hips, all just look plain fat… it can't possibly matter, of course it can't. Weight is just a number; the way she looks is on display to the entire world, quite literally, given the nature of her job.

That's why she played along with him when he began to come onto her, Jenna realises. She played along with him because although she didn't believe a word of his lies, he was the first person to call her beautiful, to find her attractive, to demonstrate some sort of sexual interest in her since Richard had dumped her. She had resigned herself to being all alone and miserable in the relationship department for the foreseeable future, until she'd lost some weight at least, learnt to stop wittering random rubbish with people she was comfortable with and clamming up pathetically with those she wasn't as Richard had said.

And yet someone had showed an interest. Oscar Robson had flirted with her completely unprompted, had wanted to be with her despite all her flaws- her appearance, mainly- hadn't cared.

Had she known back in that nightclub that he was only flirting with her because he wanted to take her home with him? She must have known, surely, Jenna decides; she'd like to think that even under the influence of alcohol she's not that naïve.

But then she's distracted from her ponderings by the burning pain in her abdomen again, and Jenna wonders whether she really did know what she was signing up for after all. It hurts, it hurts like hell; surely she would have stopped for a moment and realised that just over a week post hysterectomy sex wasn't exactly a brilliant idea?

She doesn't know, she can't think straight; her head's spinning. She whimpers as the pain becomes too much again, realising with a start that she needs to get out of here, out of Oscar's bedroom, she needs to get out before her moaning in pain wakes him up and he wants to know what's wrong.

Somehow, Jenna manages to find the strength within her to push herself up off of the bed and limp slowly out into Oscar's living room, locating her clothes discarded carelessly over back of the sofa, her handbag under the coffee table. She rummages around in her bag until she finds her painkillers, swallowing them down without bothering with water, choking briefly on her first attempt. No wonder it kills, Jenna realises; she's been waking up at four hour intervals in the middle of the night in order to take the painkillers. This is the longest she's gone without them since her operation by a good few hours.

She manages to pull her clothes back on, just about, then collapses back onto the sofa, pained, exhausted. There's a dried blood stain surrounding the wound running down the centre of her belly (Jenna has no recollection of doing it, but removing the dressing was a bad, bad idea) but she leaves it for now, resolves to have a shower in her own home later; she's too tired, too all over the place and in far too much pain to be worrying about cleaning herself up when it won't even be visible beneath her dress. She pulls her knees up to her chest and curls up on the sofa, hands pressing down on her healing incision, attempting to quell the nauseous, sore feeling inside her.

It hurts. The painkillers haven't kicked in yet, and it hurts.

Is it terribly childish of her to want her mum? Probably. No doubt Richard, or the voices in her head that seem to have become inseparable from Richard's, would say so. And besides, her mother can never find out about this, nor her father. They would be horrendously disappointed in her for lowering herself to this level, Jenna knows they would. As much as she longs for her mother's comfort, she'll never be able to tell her how strangely dirty she feels, dirty and disgusted as a result of her own actions. Never. She told her mum, Karen, more or less everything until recently, but this particular incident is going to have to be added to the ever-growing lists of things about which she must never know.

He must have been rough with her, Jenna realises; she still can't remember anything after dancing and flirting in the club with Oscar, but he must have been fairly rough with her for her to feel so sore this morning. Even rather drunk she wouldn't have asked him to be, she's almost completely certain of that, but she couldn't have protested, Jenna decides. Matt and Richard are good friends with Oscar- Jenna doesn't know him that well herself, but he must be a nice enough person for Matt and Richard to like him so much. He wouldn't have carried on if she'd protested, she tells herself, of course not.

God, though, it is rather worrying. She must have drunk a hell of a lot more than her body could cope with last night to be suffering from such total amnesia this morning.

It's only once the painkillers have begun to kick in that Jenna is able to start thinking about what on earth her next move should be. What do people do in this sort of situation? They hang around, presumably; she can't exactly disappear out the door and be gone by the time Oscar wakes up, not when she does at least know him, albeit vaguely. If nothing else, he might tell Matt and Richard… oh god, what if he tells Matt and Richard? They'd think she was some sort of slut, Jenna convinces herself, jumping into bed with one of her ex-boyfriend's closest friends just weeks after breaking up with the aforementioned ex-boyfriend. She's just going to have to hope and pray that Oscar keeps his mouth shut.

No, she can't just disappear, Jenna decides. She can't just disappear, though she's not sure she can face going back into Oscar's bedroom, either. It freaks her out, knowing more or less what must have gone on in that room just a few short hours ago, and yet being completely unable to recall any of it.

It'll come back to her, Jenna attempts to reassure herself. She could barely remember anything about last night when she first woke up; various details from earlier on in the evening have already begun to come flooding back to her. She'll remember at some point, Jenna is sure she will. Whether or not she'll want to remember once she has, however, is perhaps debatable.

In the meantime, Jenna decides, she's simply going to have to stay here and wait until Oscar wakes up. It's getting on for six now, he'll have work this morning; surely he can't be too much longer?

Jenna hopes so. She wants to get out of here, that's all she wants, she just wants him to wake up and appear so they can get whatever awkwardness has to occur next out of the way and she can escape as fast as physically possible, given she's still in rather a lot of pain. She has a fear of awkward silences- Jenna doesn't even want to think about how many of those there are going to be once Oscar emerges from his bedroom. She feels nervous already just thinking about it, more so about the awkward silences than about what might actually be said between the two of them, if she's completely honest with herself.

She's scared. She's scared that Oscar was drunk out of his mind like she must have been when he decided to take her to bed with him last night, and now morning has come and he's no longer under the influence of alcohol he'll look at her properly and realise that she's not beautiful at all, that she's fat and ugly and hideous and horribly unattractive. She's scared that he'll turn on her the way Richard did, tell her that he doesn't know what he was thinking, sleeping with her, that she's a fat, ugly pig and it's definitely best if she just gets out of his flat and they vow never to speak of this ever again. She's scared that Oscar might start bringing up specifics as to what happened last night; how she ended up going home with him and maybe even, god forbid, the events that unfolded once she was back at his flat, because she still doesn't remember it, not a thing. Jenna knows full well it must have happened from her nakedness when she awoke, from the sore, bruised feeling she's currently experiencing, but she doesn't remember, she just doesn't remember. Why can't she remember?

"Jenna?"

She jumps at the sound of her own name, startled; how ridiculous, Jenna scalds herself, it's not as though she wasn't expecting Oscar to appear at any moment. And yet still somehow he manages to make her jump, another surge of pain filling her body as she does so. She hates, this, Jenna sighs to herself, she hates this. She hates this seemingly never-ending pre-operation state of horrible pain and unpleasantness whenever she moves a little too suddenly. She just wants to feel back to normal again, that's all she wants.

"Hi," Jenna says awkwardly, her voice slightly raised in pitch as she turns to greet Oscar, still curled up on the sofa in the lounge area, unable and unwilling to move. Oscar appears perfectly refreshed, not half as exhausted and confused as Jenna is almost certain she must look to him at this moment in time. It's just typical, she sighs, if he wasn't already starting to wonder what on earth he saw in her last night, he will be at the sight of her now. She must look horrendous, absolutely horrendous.

"Hi." There's a calm, curiously relaxed air about Oscar's tone as he enters the room in only a dressing gown, moves to the kitchen area of the open-plan flat. "I thought for a moment you'd gone without saying goodbye," he calls back to her, filling up the kettle.

"Sorry, no… no I… I got up a few minutes ago, I… didn't feel well," Jenna explains. It's the truth, at least; not the whole truth, but something of it.

Oscar frowns. "You OK now?"

"Fine, fine thanks," Jenna insists. Again, in some ways she's not lying; the painkillers have begun to kick in and the aching in her abdomen, even the general soreness that she assumes is left over from the events of last night, is beginning to subside. The tablets have done nothing to calm the panic within her that she can't remember a thing about the night before, of course; her heart is racing, chest pounding with the change in rhythm, mind threatening to go into meltdown. She doesn't understand, she doesn't understand how she could have gotten herself so horribly drunk that she can't remember a fucking thing about it, not one…

Calm, she tells herself, be calm. Panicking isn't going to help in the slightest. As far as Jenna is concerned, it's perfectly clear from Oscar's own calm attitude as he offers her a coffee, gives her a strange look but obliges all the same when she asks him for just hot water, that he hasn't the faintest idea she doesn't remember last night, and she isn't about to tell him. She's ashamed, far too ashamed for getting herself into such a state, plus a part of her feels a little compassion for him, doesn't want to allow him to think that she only slept with him because she was so out of it she would have agreed to anything.

Because that isn't true, Jenna remembers enough to be more or less certain of that. She can't deny that she must have been more or less out of it by the time she arrived back at Oscar's flat with him, but she remembers flirting with him in the club, she remembers feeling attracted to him. She's not in love with him; more than that, she doesn't think she ever could be in love with him. Jenna had only ever been in love twice in her life, once with Richard and once with her previous boyfriend she had met on the set of Emmerdale; she remembers enough about her first encounters with both of those now-ex boyfriends to be able to say with more or less complete confidence and certainty that Oscar doesn't make her heart flutter like either of them did when she first met them. She doesn't need more time to get to know him in order to be sure. Jenna already knows that while she might be attracted to Oscar, while he might seem like a nice enough person, she isn't in love with him and she couldn't ever be in love with him. She's just not that serious about him, end of.

But that doesn't mean she didn't want to be with him last night even without the influence of alcohol. Thanks to Jenna's current, rather addled state of mind to say the least (not that she would ever admit that to anyone else), it's not quite as simple as that. It hasn't been that simple since Richard dumped her in the departure lounge at LAX airport.

The truth of the matter is that while Jenna might not love him, might never be able to love him, she does find Oscar attractive. She's been afraid ever since Richard dumped her and the voices started up in her head that it would be a long, long time before any man wanted to be with her again, and that's assuming she manages to fix all of her flaws and lose enough weight in order to make herself attractive enough to get another boyfriend. She's felt lonely ever since Richard left her: lonely and unloved and rejected, discarded into a heap and left to be alone.

And yet Oscar wanted to be with her. Oscar wasn't all that drunk at all and still he wanted to be with her; maybe Richard had even told him why he had decided to end things with her, and still Oscar was attracted enough to her to take her home with him. Somehow it doesn't matter that Oscar almost certainly isn't the one, somehow it doesn't even matter that she can't remember the details of last night. All that matters is that by sleeping with her last night, Oscar has gone and done something rather dangerous given Jenna's present state of mind.

She had convinced herself that Richard was right, that the voices in her head were right, that she truly is a fat, ugly pig and nobody in their right mind would find her beautiful.

Oscar has just proven that even if every other man in the world thinks that, he doesn't view her in such light at all. And even if he does, somehow, and god only knows how, he finds short, fat, ugly pig attractive.

She's not going to find anyone else who shares that opinion, Jenna is convinced she isn't. And she doesn't want to be alone, not any longer. Maybe having a boyfriend again, no longer being single, will bring an end to the numb and empty feeling inside her.

And so when Oscar blushes a little, handing her a mug of hot water, and tells her that last night was amazing, that he understands if she's viewing it more as a one off type of thing but that he'd really like to see her again, Jenna looks past the fact that she doesn't really love him, not really, and forces her mind to focus on the positives instead. She doesn't know Oscar Robson all that well, but he's attractive, he's charming, he wants to be with her despite how hideous she is physically and Matt and Richard are friends with him, have been for some time now, so he must be a reasonably nice person. Plus he must be good in bed if her soreness this morning is anything to go by, she concludes. Next time, she vows to remain sober enough to find out for certain.

She smiles, tells him she'd love to, that she feels the same way, writes her mobile number on the corner of Oscar's wall calendar and leaves his flat feeling a little better in herself. A little dirty and out of sorts for reasons she can't quite explain, admittedly, but somehow Jenna still feels better.

Maybe, just maybe, she won't be alone forever; maybe she won't mess up this time. Oscar isn't what she wants in a boyfriend, she knows that much, but beggars can't be choosers, Jenna sighs sadly. It's not as though she's going to get a better offer; her options are single and lonely on top of fat and ugly, or fat and ugly but at least with someone, free at last from the pitying glances she's _sure_ she sees people give her in the streets of London and Cardiff, as though they know somehow, they _know_ she can't keep a boyfriend and they only need to look at how huge and unattractive she is to realise why.

It's better than nothing. It's not perfect, but it's better than nothing.

And let's face it, Jenna sighs hopelessly to herself as she heads back to her own flat half an hour later, Oscar having headed off to work, she isn't perfect.

Jenna only needs to look in the mirror for evidence that she's as far from perfect as it's possible to be.

_He pulled you closer, said he'll never let go, _

_You couldn't trust him but you never said no,_

_In that moment, he made you forget how it feels when he's gone._

_Daddy, Emeli Sandé _

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**I'm saying nothing... but reviews to let me know if it was OK and what you're thinking now would be wonderful as ever, and would ensure a quicker update ;) xx**_  
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	18. Chapter 18

**I know I said Tuesday/Wednesday, but fandom-lover316 asked very nicely and I apparently don't know how to say no to you lovely lot :P Just this once though, and now you're definitely not getting the next chapter until Thursday night GMT at the very earliest, I'm halfway through writing chapter 20 and ideally I want to have gotten halfway through chapter 21 before I upload chapter 19, if not halfway through chapter 22. You'll thank me for it in a couple of weeks time when I'm at university :P **

**Thank you so much to what a day we had, The Twenty Third of November, fandom-lover316, savethedaleks, copiesofclara, GoodKarma92 (lots more of Jenna and Sapphi's relationship coming up very soon :)), Planet of the Deaf (I'm promising nothing ;)), RedAugust102, BingoTheCat, runyoucleverboy-remember, proellusionist (I'm saying nothing ;)), MemorialFantasy, PointeofDance, VivaciousReader, librarykate (I'm saying nothing at this point, you'll have to wait and see ;)), and emlouwor910 for all your reviews, you guys are absolutely fantastic. Honestly, I can't thank you all enough for all your support with this- despite me being a chapter and a half ahead on my laptop the version of this story on fanfiction is actually longer, because there are so many of you brilliant people to thank each update. Does that put how wonderful you all are into perspective? :)**

**If you don't want to give Jenna a massive hug by the end of this one, you have no heart :P**

**Chapter 18**

They fail her, just when she needs them most.

It's history repeating itself, Jenna muses sorrowfully later, that god-awful period in her life when they were all seventeen and in their final year of school together happening all over again. Once again Gemma and Becky and Kate fail to come to her rescue, not because they fail to notice, because they fail to understand. It's happening all over again, her life is falling apart and yet they fail to realise, don't notice anything amiss and carry on as though everything is normal. Because everything is normal, of course, to them it is. They haven't noticed their friend is slowly but surely falling apart and Jenna can't find it within her to tell them, is desperately willing them to work it out for themselves while knowing at the same time the chances of that are rather minimal.

Maybe she expects too much of them. She doesn't exactly make it easy for them to notice there's anything wrong, Jenna appreciates that. She's always been a good actress; it's come naturally to her, even when it comes to fooling the people closest to her. She doesn't help herself, she knows that. Even when they were seventeen, she couldn't make her mind up. Jenna knows full well that as desperate as she was for her best friends to notice that there was something wrong, she did everything she possibly could to hide it, to put on a façade and pretend that everything was alright, despite the hopeless feeling in her heart that had often threatened to overwhelm her by lunch break at the very latest.

The problem now is exactly the same as it was all those years ago. Jenna wants Becky and Gemma and Kate to know what's going on, desperately so; she's not sure how much longer she can struggle on by herself. Yet at the same time, she can't bear to put it into words. It's too painful, it's far too painful to even attempt to put it into words. To try and explain it verbally will only make it all the more real, Jenna knows it will, and she can't cope with that, she just can't.

She wants them to work it out for themselves, to put the pieces together and realise this isn't right. It's not exactly difficult this time, is it? No, Jenna tells herself, not difficult in the slightest. Surely, despite her best efforts, her friends aren't stupid enough to truly believe that there's nothing wrong with her collapsing into bed with a friend of her ex-boyfriend's just over a week after an operation, whether they know the full truth about what the surgery involved in reality or not?

Apparently so.

Maybe they're worried that if they say something she'll take it the wrong way, that she'll assume they think she's some sort of slut and the conversation will be over before it's properly begun.

What they don't realise is that in some ways- maybe even in a lot of ways- Jenna _wants_ them to tell her that she was behaving like some sort of slut when she went home with Oscar Robson last night. She wants them to notice there's something wrong and do something about it, desperately needs them to realise that ever since Richard's comments about her weight and those voices entering her head and refusing to leave she seems to have been subconsciously on some sort of self-destruct mission (though she rarely allows herself to entertain that thought). They can't help her if they don't know, and no matter how hard Jenna tries, she simply can't find it within her to pluck up the courage to try to tell them.

And besides, who's to say that even if she did tell her flatmates, they would understand? Who's to say that anyone would understand, anyone at all? She's been alone with the majority of all this for getting on for six weeks now, and already a time in which she felt able to confide in her family and friends seems like a distant dream to Jenna. The being disgusted with her own appearance issue aside, she's in too deep to even begin to confide in anyone now, she's certain of that much. Her flatmates, Steven and Matt all think she's had a myomectomy and her family haven't even been exposed to that lie; they know nothing, nothing at all about the operation she had a week and a half ago. To tell her mother now would be impossible; she's in far too deep for that. Her mum would be upset that she hadn't felt able to be honest with her right from the start, rejected, hurt that she hadn't trusted her enough to tell her. She wouldn't understand, Jenna is certain of that; even if she could find the words to begin to explain the jumbled mess her head is at present, how horribly unhappy she's been recently, she doesn't know how to make her mother understand.

She doesn't know how to explain it all without sounding like an overly-sensitive child getting upset over nothing, without her mother simply hugging her and telling her she's fine just the way she is and not to take any notice. Because it's worse than that, a thousand times so, there's no doubt in Jenna's mind about that. She simply doesn't know how to explain so.

She can't explain it, not to anyone. Not ever. She's too afraid of what they might think of her.

And so when Gemma and Becky and Kate arrive home from work that evening and miss the point completely, fail to be the good friends she thought they were and laugh off her encounter with Oscar, telling her that while they didn't think she had it in her to get up to such a thing but they're glad she's moved on from Richard and she's feeling so much better, Jenna plays along.

She silences the voices within her that want to scream she's not OK, that she's been far from OK for the past six weeks now, almost, and why don't they notice, why don't they _notice_ there's something wrong?

She fights back the urge to lose control of herself completely and shout angrily that actually, she's not OK with what happened last night at all, that while she's rather relieved she's found someone who wants to make a go of things with her despite how hideous and fat she looks, she still can't remember anything about the night in question, less than twenty-four hours ago, and it's scaring her.

And so she smiles and plays along, her most convincing performance to them yet. The advantage of acting for a living is that she's so used to slipping effortlessly into character by now that it's possible to pull it off without even those closest to her realising she's doing it, possible to improvise so quickly that she barely has to pause to think. She laughs a little with them, blushing at appropriate intervals (not enough to reveal the shame she feels and still can't explain, of course, just enough to indicate a suitable degree of embarrassment), rolling her eyes jokingly when Kate asks her if she'll be seeing Oscar again, saying it's early days yet.

"But do you want to see him again?" Becky presses, grinning.

Jenna rolls her eyes again, feigning exasperation. "Yes," she tells her friends. "I think I do."

It's not a lie, not the slightest bit. She does want to see Oscar again, though it's not because she thinks she could love him, she hasn't changed her mind about that. Like him, yes, but not love him.

It's because she's sick and tired of feeling all alone and unwanted and not bloody good enough.

Matt texts her later that evening: 'just checking you got home OK last night ;)' No kisses. Even he's trying to make a bloody joke out of it.

'Oh give it a rest! ;) Fine thanks, see you this weekend x' she texts him back, wondering absent-mindedly once the message is sent whether he kiss in her message when he didn't bother with one in his depicts her as a little desperate. Quite possibly.

All that keeps her going through the remainder of the week is the date she's arranged with Oscar for Sunday night (she hates dates, they make her feel horrifically self-conscious; how he's managed to talk her into this is anyone's guess) and, once she sees the schedule and realises she's doing scenes with Sapphira, the final Who's Companion auditions the Saturday beforehand.

Somehow, Sapphira managed to make her smile last weekend when no one else could. There's a wonderful child-like innocence about her, a sense that the world is a far fairer, simpler place than it truly is that seems to rub off on Jenna if she spends enough time with her. And yet at the same time she's strangely compassionate beyond her years; she seems to know there's something wrong somehow, she knows. She doesn't understand, of course- how could she, without knowing the details- but somehow she knows, Jenna is almost certain of it. She knows and yet she just carries on as normal, no special treatment bar a concerned glance every now and then that makes Jenna want to laugh and remind her she's only seven.

Why is it a seven year old who barely knows her can strike the perfect balance between concerned, caring and not pushing the matter, while the adults who know her well have failed miserably without even realising it?

Just tomorrow, Jenna tells herself as reassuringly as she can the night after that spent out in Primrose Hill, all she has to do it struggle through tomorrow-Friday- and then the weekend will be better.

She's dreading Friday. Making it through today has been difficult enough; she's been alone, well and truly alone all day after leaving Oscar's flat until Gemma, Becky and Kate arrived home from work that evening. She doesn't remember ever being particularly fussed about being left to her own devices before, yet today has been a completely different story. Something about being alone for so long today has freaked her out, made her feel isolated in a way she can't quite explain. Normally on a day off by herself with nothing to do she would entertain herself in a variety of different ways, dance, read, wander around London museums enjoying a wonderful feeling of anonymity, reorganise her kitchen cupboards if she was seriously lacking in something to do. But somehow an uneasy feeling had overcome her the moment she was back in her flat by herself and the rest of the day she spends curled up on the sofa in the lounge, unable to settle to anything, not quite able to understand how she can be so tired when she's barely done anything all day.

And then that question had led her to wonder exactly how much sleep she had gotten last night, and suddenly Jenna had felt rather ashamed all over again.

The thought of spending the whole of Friday alone too fills Jenna with so much dread that she does what she wouldn't have even considered until today; she calls Matt in the vain hope that perhaps he doesn't have any plans for tomorrow either. She's so irrationally nervous at the prospect of being alone with her thoughts for an entire day tomorrow that she's not completely convinced she'll be able to sound completely normal on the phone, but somehow Jenna doesn't care anymore. She can come up with something creative to tell Matt by means of an explanation later; right now, all she cares about is ensuring she doesn't end up spending a second day all alone.

She tries to call him first, but it goes to voicemail, and when the computerised voice at the other end of the line instructs her to leave a message after the tone Jenna finds she can't quite force the words out. She settles for texting instead, asking if he has any plans for tomorrow.

She's not quite sure what stings the most, the speediness of his reply having not picked up the phone to take her call in the first place or the abruptness of his message.

'Sorry, seeing some mates tomorrow, already planned. See you Saturday.'

And so with that said and done, Jenna begins the process of psyching herself up for another day spent in the company of only herself and the ever-taunting voices in her head. It's fine, she tells herself, it's fine. Matt's busy with a life of his own; so what? She can't expect him to drop everything last minute just to spend time with her.

It's pathetic to feel rejected; it's pathetic and childish and she needs to snap out of it. No wonder Richard couldn't stand her.

She's immensely proud of the fact that she manages to go almost the whole of Friday on nothing but minimal quantities of diet coke and large quantities of water. It's not easy; it makes her feel well and truly awful, in fact. It makes her head hurt and her body ache and her belly feel bloated and sore and her eyelids heavy until Jenna has no choice but to give in and eat half of a piece of toast before her flatmates arrive home from work and realise something's wrong.

Because although a part of her still desperately wants them to notice there's something wrong, ideally Jenna has in mind something a little less dramatic than coming home from work to find her passed out on the living room floor.

She won't be doing this every day; that, she decides, would be overkill. Just once in a while maybe, every week? Every two days? How frequently will be enough to ensure she loses enough weight to no longer be considered short, fat and hideous? Once a week. Maybe twice.

Nonetheless, Jenna goes to bed that night with a strange, almost sickening sense of achievement within her.

Maybe it's the fact that she managed the majority of the day on nothing more calorific than diet coke and tactically displaced the most part of her dinner into the bin before her flatmates sat down to eat and even noticed.

Maybe it's the fact that she sat beside Gemma and Becky and Kate on the sofa all evening and her oversized hoodie was enough to conceal the almost half a stone she's succeeded in losing in not quite six weeks.

Maybe it's the control; rather a lot of her control over her own life has been robbed cruelly from her over the past few weeks, after all. This is something she can control. Nobody is in control of what passes her lips but her, nobody can take from her this feeling of empowerment, this feeling that hell, maybe she can't control how short she is or how ugly she looks, maybe she has no say over developing stage 1 uterine cancer and being whisked off for a hysterectomy before she's even had time to fully come to terms with what's wrong with her.

But Jenna can control this. She can control this, and in the process, she tells herself, she can control what people think of her, she can ensure that no man will ever dump her again for being a fat, ugly pig and unbearable to look at like her now-ex boyfriend was forced to. That control is all she has left and she's determined to cling to it, to enforce even stricter rules and regulations on herself if necessary.

It'll get better, Jenna tells herself, tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable. Maybe, just maybe, if she carries on like this, sticks to the strict regime she has mentally placed herself on, maybe it'll get better.

That's what she's counting on.

* * *

**Hope it was OK- more action in the next one. Reviews and/or PMs would be wonderful as ever- as I said previously this time I mean it when I say I won't be uploading again until I'm at least halfway through chapter 21, sorry about that. But reviews do make me write faster... you know what to do ;) **

**xx**


	19. Chapter 19

**I'm now 200ish words into chapter 22 and that one's more or less going to write itself I think (and it's another Matt chapter, for those of you wanting one :)) so you can have this one now :) I'm not going to say too much about the tone of this one but do let me know what you think because I'm curious to know what you make of it. Chapter 20 you might hate me for even more than chapter 17 though, if you read between the lines... that's all I'm saying ;)**

**Huge virtual hugs and welsh cakes to all my wonderful, amazing reviewers, souffles-and-bowties, what a day we had, the twenty third of November, guest, ammyz, Remembermewhen (thank you, that's a huge compliment! It's always been my goal with this to base my characters off of the originals rather than try and make them the originals if that makes any sense at all, I'd never thought about publishing though. We'll see if anyone's still reading this by the end!), copiesofclara, runyoucleverboy-remember, guest (I'm not planning on changing the rating, no, I would feel horribly awkward writing smut), memorialfantasy, lilliascraven, zoz, doctorwhofanwarrior11, emlouwor910 (I'll PM you about the British education system :)), and alwayspoby, I say it every time but you lot are seriously amazingly wonderful and all your kind words are so, so appreciated. Thank you.**

**Chapter 19**

She breaks her no breakfast promise the following morning, and consequently, by the time she arrives at the BBC television centre twenty five minutes early for the final Who's Companion auditions, Jenna feels well and truly disgusted with herself.

She had promised herself she wouldn't eat breakfast until she'd lost a significant amount of weight; anything breakfast related is on her banned list along with anything fried, anything containing chocolate, anything containing excess sugar and anything carbohydrate heavy (potentially changing to anything carbohydrate full stop at some point in the near future, Jenna has already decided). She did try to list everything out individually at first, but it took far too long. This new categorical method is much more efficient.

She had promised herself not to touch anything even remotely resembling breakfast that wasn't calorie-free peppermint tea, but she had awoken so desperately hungry that she had momentarily ignored her long list of restrictions. It was most likely the day she had had yesterday, Jenna concludes as she approaches the main entrance of the studios, it must have been the surviving yesterday on two glasses of diet coke, a limited portion of pasta and mineral water that did it. She's just not used to it yet, that's the problem. It will come in time. It'll get easier.

Somehow her brain fails to remind her that this isn't normal, that this level of obsession over food really, truly isn't normal and there must be something seriously wrong with her for her to be allowing herself to believe even for a moment that this is necessary, let alone a sensible idea.

She makes a beeline for the toilets at the entrance the moment she makes it into the building, still suitably furious with herself. All rational thinking is completely out of the window by this point in time; Jenna can't see that without the piece of toast she allowed herself this morning before leaving her flat she might well have fainted clean over on the tube into work. All she can see is that she's failed, that she promised herself she wouldn't be eating breakfast and that's exactly what she's done.

She wants to be alone, that's all she wants. She just wants some time alone before the casting workshop begins, time to digest her failure and come up with a strategy to ensure she never caves into temptation ever again.

That's Jenna's plan, at least, until she pushes open the door of the ladies' toilets and the soft sound of sobbing fills her ears.

Sapphira is curled up against the radiator below the hand dryers, head in her hands, knees pulled up to her chest, her shoulders shaking with sobs of distress.

"Sapphira?" Suddenly all thoughts of herself are gone; how can Jenna possibly focus on herself and her own failure when confronted with a distraught child? Children are innocent, precious; Jenna can practically guarantee that whatever it is that's troubling Sapphira, she didn't inflict it upon herself as she has done. Sapphira is far too young to understand just how complicated and cruel the world can be, let alone the human mind. She's too innocent to be exposed to the mere concept that a person's brain is capable of turning against them rather spectacularly and leading them down a path of self-loathing and hopelessness.

"Sapphira, what's wrong?" Jenna asks her gently, lowering herself down with slightly less pain than usual of late until she's sat cross-legged on the floor beside her, "Sapphira?"

Sapphira refuses to look at her, still staring down at her knees.

"Hey, come on," Jenna says softly, reaching into her bag, rummaging for a moment, before pulling out a packet of tissues. "Talk to me? What's wrong?" she asks, reaching out for her hand. Sapphira looks up at last, tentatively, eyes filled with tears, eyelids fluttering, clearly tired. She hasn't slept, Jenna knows the signs of that well enough by now to tell. That makes two of them facing a long day ahead of them operating on very little sleep.

The difference is, of course, that it doesn't really matter too much in the general scheme of things if Jenna isn't on top form today. Sapphira, however, is another matter. If she doesn't hold Sapphira together and cheer her up enough for her to impress in her audition, Jenna won't be seeing her again.

She can't explain why, but somehow Jenna isn't quite ready to let her go just yet.

"Are you not going to tell me?" Jenna sighs, handing over the tissues. "I want to help, Sapphira, I do. But I can't help if you won't tell me what's wrong."

Sapphira looks away again, avoiding her gaze. "I'm not meant to say anything," she says quietly, still sniffling though the worst of her tears are gone. "It's meant to stay a secret."

It's only now that Jenna gets a proper look at her. Her long dark hair is tangled, matted, rather giving off the impression that it hasn't been brushed in days. Her dark brown eyes are red-rimmed, as though her crying isn't isolated just to this morning. She's beautifully turned out as ever, in a blue floral skirt and white t shirt, suggesting at least someone at home wants to make a good impression, and yet somehow there's an air of careless neglect about her, something Jenna picks up on almost instinctively, unable to explain quite why. Something isn't quite right, she's sure of it.

It's funny, how much easier it becomes to detect when there's something troubling those around you when you're fighting so hard to conceal your own problems and fears from everyone you come into contact with. Maybe it's because Jenna now seems to spend rather a lot of her time analysing, attempting to pick up on the slip-ups of others in order to learn from their mistakes, avoid making them herself.

"I'm good at secrets," Jenna whispers, leaning back against the radiator behind them, mimicking Sapphira's posture. "I won't tell anyone, I promise."

Sapphira simply stares at her, her internal conflict written all over her face.

Jenna sighs. "Have you ever heard the expression 'a problem shared is a problem halved'?"

Sapphira shakes her head in response, still silent.

"It means that keeping a secret to yourself can be hard sometimes, can't it? Especially if it's a problem one and it upsets you. If you tell someone what's wrong and let them in on the secret too then you don't have to worry about it all on your own anymore, do you? Then it doesn't seem so bad."

Still Sapphira doesn't quite look convinced. So much so, in fact, that Jenna honestly doesn't think she's going to go for it, begins to attempt to form another plan in her head. She can't let Sapphira fail at the final hurdle in the audition process because she's upset and won't tell anyone why, she just can't.

If nothing else, if she's going to have to spent a potential thirteen weeks mentoring contestants for the Who's Companion live shows, Jenna at least wants the cute, small one who takes her every word as gospel, the one she might actually enjoy having to sit through talent rehearsals for.

"Mum and Sofi had a massive fight last night," Sapphira whispers at last, her voice so faint that Jenna has to strain to hear her. And then she's silent once more, a horribly guilty look fast spreading across her small face.

"OK…" Jenna says slowly, gently, leaning in to wrap her arm around Sapphira's shoulders, checking her watch in the process. She has another twenty minutes until she's expected upstairs for briefing and there's plenty of time even after that before the final auditionees are due to arrive. If she can calm Sapphira down now, there might still be hope. "Do you know what it was about?"

Sapphira shakes her head. "Sofi's upset because the GB Juniors squad gave her good feedback at rhythmic gymnastics trials but they still didn't take her and she's sad, and Mum's very stressed because my little sister's dad wants more time with her at weekends and stuff and Mum thinks he's a lowlife bastard."

Jenna has to laugh, in spite of everything. "Is that what your mum said?"

Another shake of her head. "No, that's what Sofi said when I asked her why Mum was angry."

"Right. Well for starters, it's probably best if you forget you ever heard that word and never use it again, OK?"

"Is it rude?"

"Yes, it's rude. It sounds like your mum and your sister were both upset for different reasons and they took it out on each other," Jenna says carefully, still trying to process this newly-revealed information herself. "Don't you think? I'm sure they didn't mean to argue with each other, I think maybe they were both just very upset and they lost their tempers? Do you think?"

"Maybe," Sapphira agrees, fidgeting with her hands. She's not totally convinced, that much is obvious.

"I'm sure they'll make up," Jenna says gently. "Once they've both had a chance to calm down, they'll make up. You'll see." She pauses, still thinking through Sapphira's latest revelation, wondering whether or not to say anything. She had already gathered enough from taking Sapphira to Caffè Nero the week before that her family life wasn't exactly straight-forward, but how to offer comfort regarding it in a way a child can understand is proving a challenge.

"So are you worried your little sister might start spending more time with her dad and not so much with you and your mum?" Jenna tries at last, squeezing Sapphira's hand. "Sienna, isn't it? Your little sister?"

Sapphira shakes her head. "No," she insists. "I'm not worried. Mum says Sienna is seeing more of her dad over her dead body."

What on earth is she supposed to say to that?

Sapphira hears more than a seven year old should, Jenna concludes, that much is perfectly obvious. Maybe her mother is to blame for that or maybe Sofia relays it back to her; either way, she clearly hears far too much.

Both of them are silent for a few moments, Sapphira wiping her eyes, shredding her tissue agitatedly, Jenna still with one arm around her small shoulders, playing with her hair. The ends of her hair are horribly split, Jenna realises; a curtain of matted brown curls with a good inch of split end at the bottom. She reaches into her bag, rummaging for a moment, before pulling out a small hairbrush.

"Turn around," she tells Sapphira.

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to sort your hair out."

Sapphira obliges, shuffling round on the floor until she has her back to Jenna. "Oww!" she complains, as the brush is pulled through her hair.

"Well, that's what you get for not brushing it," Jenna tells her lightly. "You don't want to audition looking like you've been dragged through a hedge backwards, do you?"

"No."

"Well, let me sort it out then."

Another period of silence.

"So is your sister going to try again with rhythmic gymnastics next year?" Jenna asks a few minutes later, the worst of the detangling process over with. "Just because she didn't make it in next year, that doesn't mean she won't ever be good enough."

Sapphira shakes her head. "No, she doesn't want to. She says she doesn't want to compete ever again and she's done with it forever. Mum thinks she's crazy. But Sofi thinks Mum's crazier because she didn't like Sofi spending so much time training, but now she's failed trials she doesn't want her to give up."

"Well, maybe she's got a point," Jenna suggests. "Getting onto an international sports team can't be easy, especially not the first time you try. Maybe this will make your sister work even harder in time for next year to make sure she gets in then. I do see what your mum means, it'd be a shame to give up everything because one trial didn't go to plan."

"Sofi says she wouldn't get in next year either, though. The coaches are never going to let her in."

"She can't know that for certain. Not until she tries."

"She can," Sapphira insists. "She does. She told me. The coaches said she was good but she didn't have a dancer's body. Sofia says that just means they think she's too fat to be a rhythmic gymnast."

"Is that why she's upset?"

"I think so."

Jenna sighs, finishing with Sapphira's hair and turning around to face her properly. "That's rubbish," she tells her firmly. "That's absolute rubbish. You tell your sister that, OK? There's a huge difference between not having a dancer's body and being fat." She takes a deep breath, watching Sapphira closely. "If I tell you a secret, do you promise not to tell anyone? No one but Sofia, OK, and you'll make her promise not to tell anyone, too?"

"I promise."

She's not entirely sure what it is that makes her admit to it. "You know I told you I used to dance, similar to the dancing you do, when I was about your sister's age?"

"Mmm?"

"I wanted to be a ballerina, until I was about thirteen. I used to go to acting classes but that wasn't what I wanted to do until I had to give up on dancing; I always wanted to be a ballerina. I used to do the Royal Ballet Associates classes, Blackpool children's ballet, that kind of thing. And then when I re-auditioned for Royal Ballet Associates when I was thirteen they told me fairly bluntly that I was the wrong shape to be a ballerina and I'd have to lose some weight first. So that was the end of that; I decided I'd rather be an actress instead than put myself through that."

Sapphira looks suitably horrified. "But you're really thin and pretty!" she exclaims, though Jenna knows only too well that Sapphira is only telling her so because she's seven and sweet and polite.

"And you're very sweet," Jenna tells her, laughing a little. "Look, the point is, your sister isn't the first person to be told they can't take rhythmic gymnastics, ballet, anything like that further because they don't have the right body type. And it's rubbish, but there's nothing anyone can do about it, unfortunately. But she'll find something else she wants to do, I promise, and anyway, just because she can't compete internationally, that doesn't mean she can't carry on doing it for fun, does it?"

"Do you still dance?" Sapphira asks.

"In my bedroom, with the door shut, when I know my flatmates are out. Not as well as I did, but that's because I don't practise as much as I used to. The point is that just because your sister has to give up on being an Olympic athlete, that doesn't mean she has to give up on doing something she loves altogether. Do you see? And she'll realise that eventually, I promise. Your sister will calm down and your mum will calm down and they'll make up with each other, you'll see. OK?"

Sapphira nods, eyes still red but no longer glistening with tears, her whole persona considerably calmer. "OK." This time, she sounds convinced.

"Good girl. How come you're here so early, anyway?" Jenna asks. She's supposed to be in briefing any minute but she can hardly leave Sapphira alone in the toilets for another half an hour, not when she discovered her in such a state.

"Because this was the only time Sienna's dad could drop me off."

Sometimes it seems like the more she talks to Sapphira, the less of an idea Jenna has as to what exactly her family set-up is.

"So he just left you here by yourself?" Jenna sighs. "So what does he expect you to do for the next half hour?"

Sapphira shrugs. "It's not his fault," she says quietly. "Not really."

It doesn't matter whose fault it is, Jenna sighs to herself; what matters is that Sapphira's audition today is most likely the most pressure she's ever been under in all of her seven years, and from what she can gather, her family have been too wrapped up in their own problems to pay much attention to her.

"Well you can't just sit in here for half an hour, can you?" Jenna sighs. "You're going to be bored out of your mind." And boredom will only lead to excessive nervousness, of course, though she doesn't say as much. Allowing Sapphira to sit by herself in the ladies toilets for half an hour is a bad, bad idea, no doubt about it.

"Right, come on," Jenna sighs, grasping Sapphira's hand gently and leading her out of the toilets. "You can't stay in here."

"I can."

"No you can't," Jenna insists. "Look, you can go and sit outside, in the garden where you waited last weekend, remember? " She reaches into her handbag again, pulling out her phone, setting a timer for 30 minutes, opening her games folder. "Angry birds?"

"What?"

"Will angry birds do you? I've got to go to a meeting, will that keep you entertained until auditions start?" She hands over her phone, not entirely sure what exactly is possessing her to trust a seven year old she barely knows with her mobile. "But I'm trusting you, Sapphira; you don't read my messages, you keep out of my contacts and you don't go on the internet, you got that? And you tell no one about this, and you give my phone back when we're rehearsing together, quietly, so nobody notices. Promise?"

Even after all the palaver sorting Sapphira out, still Jenna manages somehow to make it into the meeting room first, apart from Steven, of course; he's always the first into work. Sometimes Jenna wonders if he sleeps there.

He looks up as she enters the room, just the faintest traces of concern on his face. "Morning," he calls, pushing a pile of papers across the table. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine, thanks," Jenna insists brightly, sitting down beside him. "Much better. You?"

"Not too bad." Steven frowns, head slightly tilted, watching her intently. "Are you sure you're not just telling me what you think I want to hear?" he asks cautiously.

"What? No, of course not. I'm fine, honestly." She seems to spend half her life saying that these days, as though hoping that somehow if she says it out loud enough times over, it might start to become the truth.

Steven groans. "That's exactly what I mean," he sighs. "Look, Jenna, just because you're scheduled to be working today, that doesn't mean you have to-"

"Yes it does."

"No, it doesn't," Steven says firmly. "Under normal circumstances, yes, but given you-"

"I don't want any special treatment!"

"No, I know you don't," Steven sighs. "You've made that perfectly clear."

Just for a moment, Jenna feels like a child all over again, a badly behaved school child called into the head teacher's office for a telling off. Something of it must have shown on her face, because suddenly the despair in Steven's voice is faded a little. "I just don't want you making yourself ill," he tells her, voice gentle, concerned. "Pushing yourself too hard and making yourself ill isn't going to achieve anything, Jenna. If you need time off then we can…"

"But I don't," Jenna says firmly. "I really don't, honestly. I'm fine. I'm just going to be bored stuck at home all day, and anyway, it was only minor surgery. Honestly, I'm fine."

"If you're sure," Steven sighs. But he's given in, for the time being at least, Jenna can tell from the way he's now looking back over to the pile of scripts he'd previously pushed to one side when she first entered the room. "So you know who you've got this morning, yeah? Francesca, Oliver, Harry, Sapphira and Ross- same format as before except they all have their own characters today- you'll get about half an hour with each of them to rehearse, then you run through with all of them back in the studio before lunch, you get the script, they don't. Then we kick them all out after lunch and you, Matt, David and Billie give some feedback, and then you're free to go."

"OK."

"And if you change your mind at any point, you come and tell me and then you leave as soon as you like, OK? I mean it."

"Thanks," Jenna tells him sincerely. She has absolutely no intention of doing so- that hasn't changed- but at the same time she knows that playing along with Steven will keep him happy, for the meantime, at least.

There's a creaking sound from the far enough of the room and the door swings open, through which Matt appears. It must be the first time he's been even close to punctual, Jenna realises with a smile.

"Hi," he announces, tone normal as ever, flopping down into the seat opposite Jenna, the other side of Steven. It's only as he sits down that Jenna realises she can't remember the last time he didn't choose the seat next to her, and suddenly there's a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach that she can't explain, doesn't want to explain.

She's being ridiculous, and she knows it. Getting upset over which seat Matt happens to choose around a conference table is taking things a little too far, end of discussion.

Matt makes no mention of her call that he didn't answer and their brief conversation via text on Thursday night, and Jenna is in no hurry to bring it up. She's quiet as the rest of the Who's Companion team file in gradually over the course of the next five minutes or so, greets Billie and David when they arrive with what she hopes isn't too forced of a smile, but then falls silent again rather quickly, merely listening in as they and Matt launch into a conversation about something or other.

Steven was right; Jenna still doesn't feel quite herself. Partly because the pain within her from her operation doesn't seem to be subsiding, partly because somehow for the past couple of days she's felt rather unhappy and alone and she can't seem to snap herself out of it.

How she can feel unhappier than ever when she has a date with Oscar lined up for tomorrow night, when it's looking as though she might well have a boyfriend again before too long, is anyone's guess. Jenna can't make sense of it. She's selfish, she concludes, it must be because she's selfish and unappreciative, that her expectations are too high. Nothing is ever going to make her feel happy again at this rate.

Jenna calls Sapphira in first when the rehearsal time starts, partly in order to get her phone back, partly because she wants to check up on her and partly because she's hoping that somehow they'll be able to cheer each other up. She runs through her assigned auditionees mentally before making her decision: Francesca is in her 20s, long blonde hair, die-hard fan, has varied between astonishingly brilliant and a little mediocre so far in the audition process. Oliver is a couple of years older than Sapphira (Jenna can't remember how many exactly), very excited about the whole thing but unlikely to make it any further if Jenna is brutally honest. Harry is around the same age as Oliver although far more natural an actor and not a bad singer; assuming people decide to vote for him on the basis of him being cute and likeable he might do OK. Ross is older, in his late 30s, Jenna reckons, tall, lanky, here partly because he's a huge Doctor Who fan and partly on a last chance saloon, hoping to get his first proper acting role after years of dreaming and trying and failing again and again.

They're lovely, all of them are, but due to either being a huge fan, a little desperate for a big break, only just into double figures or a combination of some or all of the above, they can be a little full on.

Maybe that's part of the reason she'd rather work with Sapphira any day of the week, Jenna ponders, thinking back to their conversation in the café the previous week. _'I like talking to you, but I don't like talking to you because you get to be Clara sometimes, I like talking to you because you're nice.'_ That was what she had said. Somehow, Sapphira manages to give Jenna a sense of normality that no one else seems to be capable of giving her at present, even those closest to her.

True to her word, Sapphira enters the room quietly, without fuss, only pulling Jenna's phone out from where she's hidden it between the two scripts in her hands when the door is shut and it's just her and Jenna in the room.

"Thanks," Jenna smiles, throwing her phone into her bag, holding out her hand for one of the scripts. "Are you feeling better?"

Sapphira nods.

"You sure? You're calm, you're focused?"

"Yep."

She looks calmer, Jenna realises, she looks determined. She appears to have calmed herself down enough to focus on the task at hand; that's something, at least. Children are remarkably talented at that, seemingly capable of picking themselves up from just about anything rather rapidly. Resilient, Jenna wonders, is that the word most suitable to describe it? If she could have only a fraction of that resilience, she would be more than happy.

"So you've got your own character this week, you know that, do you?" Jenna asks, looking down to begin to flick through the script.

"So this is the character I get to play in the Easter episode if I win?"

"Yep, I think that's the idea," Jenna confirms. "So hopefully, for the next few weeks, you're going to be… Jasmine? You know, I played a character called Jasmine for my first proper acting job."

"You did?" Sapphira asks, inquisitive. "What were you in?"

"You won't have seen me in it, I don't think you would even have been born when I was first in it!" Jenna laughs. "I was in a soap called Emmerdale, I played a girl called Jasmine."

"Is that the one in the village?"

"Yep, that's it. Have you seen it?"

"My mum watches it sometimes."

"Does she? Do you know who Debbie is?" Another nod. "The actress who plays her, Charley, she's one of my best friends."

"That's so cool!"

Jenna laughs. "Not really. She's just a normal person, she's nothing like her character."

"So she's just a really good actress?" Sapphira asks. "Mum says Debbie's a head case."

"Well, she might have a point there. Charley's lovely though, so yes, she's pretty convincing."

"You're like Clara, though," Sapphira points out.

"OK, I'm not sure if that's a compliment or not, then," Jenna laughs.

"Compliment, because even horrid people who are really good at fooling people can't quite pull off being nice, and Clara's nice," Sapphira concludes. "That's what Nadine says."

"Your mum's old social worker?"

"Mmm. That's why she and Mum fell out, because Nadine said it was obvious that Sven was a waste of space but Mum wouldn't listen."

"Who's Sven?"

"Mum's old boyfriend."

What on earth is she meant to say to that?

"Tell you what; shall we get going on this scene, Sapphira? We've only got half an hour, I think, this is a lot to get through in half an hour."

* * *

**More dialog again this time, I was aiming for a slightly different feel. Any thoughts? Debbie Dingle from Emmerdale is of course the character whom Jenna's character Jasmine got together with briefly, before cheating on Debbie with Debbie's father, Cain. I've been asked this a couple of times recently; Sapphira is indeed a strange name, it's not commonly used in Britain any more than it is in the US. But it is relevant, and that relevance will become clear in a few chapters' time. Bear with me!**

**Reviews/PMs would be lovely as ever, and past 200 and I promise to update by the end of the weekend :) And if you think you know where this is going, be sure to let me know... ;) xx**


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20- I was going to upload this tomorrow night but I decided I'd rather get the angry PMs over with- seriously, you might hate me a little bit. Have faith though, I have a plan! You'll like me eventually, promise. I hope, anyway! Thank you so much everyone who reviewed the last chapter: doctorwhofanwarrior11, The Twenty Third of November, What a day we had, guest, Remembermewhen (I'm saying nothing for now ;) Thank you so much!), BingotheCat, guest (there's a whole chapter of Matt/Jenna interaction coming up in a couple of chapters' time :)), emlouwor910, MemorialFantasy, Rose, LibraryKate, Planet of the Deaf, SavetheDaleks, Bethanria-proudwhoufflepuff, LilliasCraven (ohhh interesting theory... I'm saying nothing ;)), copiesofclara, finchel4everbelieveinthetether and Vivaciousreader for both of yours, all of you are amazingly awesome, seriously. Don't hate me too much, will you?**

**Chapter 20**

Jenna doesn't put on her best performance that morning, and she knows it. She's not bad, but she's not brilliant either; she's somewhere in the range of mediocre, convincing enough but nothing special. Sapphira is brilliant, Francesca is rather good, Harry and Ross do a good enough job and Oliver cracks a little under the pressure, but then that was exactly what Jenna had been expecting. She should have been the best out of all of them though, Jenna realises that. She's the only one of the six of them who's worked professionally, the only one of them who is a permanent cast member, and yet the performance she puts on while running scenes with each and every one of them is far from her best. If someone watching didn't know any better, they might have thought that she was auditioning, too.

Jenna knows exactly why she was so off today, of course; it doesn't take her long to figure it out.

It's because her mind is so preoccupied, worrying about what on earth she's going to do in order to get through lunch.

She has been allowing herself to eat lunch this past week, though not exactly what would be considered a normal amount, and she knows it. Plus there's the added complication that she had breakfast this morning; she hasn't been eating breakfast for weeks, which surely means that she shouldn't allow herself to eat any lunch?

It does, Jenna decides, it definitely does. Her flatmates are in tonight, which means although she might be able to tactically dish out dinner so that she has less than everyone else, she is going to have to eat it. She can't allow herself any more than two meals a day or she's going to remain fat and ugly forever, a voice in the back of her head that sounds suspiciously familiar tells her jeeringly.

Once those thoughts have entered her head, of course, the mere thought of allowing herself to eat anything at all for lunch makes Jenna feel rather sick; there's no way she's going to be able to eat anything now, there's absolutely no way.

And so she does the only thing she can think of. She takes her lunch from the canteen and leaves with it, telling anyone who asks she was meant to phone her mum last night but didn't get the chance, and now's probably going to be the best time to catch her. It's convincing enough, Jenna decides, she really has used her lunch break to catch up with her mum before. Nobody looks particularly suspicious, not even Steven, who simply nods and reminds her of the time she's due back in the conference room to discuss the morning's auditions.

The moment she's out of the revolving doors at the front of the building, Jenna runs across the road to the public bin on the pavement on the opposite side, dumps her lunch besides the bottle of water and heads towards the park around the corner. She doesn't look back.

She spends her half hour lunch break sat alone on a bench at the quieter end of the park, sunglasses on, staring into space. She feels tired; she feels horribly tired and desperately in need of sleep. It's just because she's not used to it, Jenna tells herself, she's only feeling this rubbish because she's not used to functioning on this amount of food. Once her body adapts, she'll be fine. If anything, she'll feel an awful lot better.

Jenna is now so far down the slippery slope of believing the voices in her head that she fails to see the dangerously flawed logic in that particular conclusion.

She splashes some cold water on her face in the toilets and reapplies her makeup before going back up to the conference room for the post-lunch meeting, hoping the shock of the cool liquid on her face will go some way towards waking her up, making her feel at least a little more alert. She takes a long, hard look at herself in the mirror before leaving the toilets, pressing her cheeks, sighing deeply. She knows she's lost almost half a stone since Richard dumped her on the way back from Comic Con, she knows because she's seen the numbers drop on the bathroom scales, and yet she can't for the life of her work out where that half a stone has gone from. She's deliberately taken to wearing loose clothing as a temporary measure until she's lost enough weight to feel comfortable in her own body again, but her loose knee-length blue dress she's chosen today can't stop her brain from focusing on how fat her face looks, how chubby her cheeks are. She's always thought that about her cheeks but it hasn't been an issue as such to her for a long time, not for years.

It's as though someone has flicked a switch in her head, amplified everything she's ever disliked about her body until it appears a hundred times more obvious to anyone looking at her in profile, amplified her feelings regarding those imperfections at the same time to an almost unbearable level, making her so self-conscious at times that Jenna just wants to curl up in a ball and never have to face the world again, not until she's lost some weight, at least.

It scares her, this feeling. It scares her because she remembers what it felt like to not be plagued constantly with such self-loathing, free of the voice that sounds horribly like Laura Scott from her school sixth form and her cronies echoing over and over and over again inside her head, refusing to leave her alone. It scares her because this has all started so suddenly and it's been getting progressively worse ever since, and Jenna knows full well that it won't stop until she's reached the point of perfection, or as close to it as she can possibly get.

In some ways, maybe the voices in her head are a blessing; after all, they're improving her, they're forcing her to transform herself from the fat, ugly pig she knows full well she is into, hopefully, something not quite as hideous to look at as before. Maybe that's the best way of looking at it.

She doesn't feel as though she's truly living at the moment, Jenna realises on her way back up to the conference room. She feels as though she's stuck in a state of limbo, not living, merely existing, waiting until she's close enough to perfection to be able to live again without feeling constantly ugly, fat and out of place, as though everyone must be staring at her and laughing behind her back, wondering how she can possibly go into work each day in front of a camera and allow herself to be filmed for thousands of people to see.

Jenna only carries on with it all because she knows to stop now will only draw more attention to herself. It will all be alright again once she's lost some more weight, she tells herself, once she's no longer so fat she'll be at least a little satisfied with her appearance, and the way she looked during the process of losing the weight won't matter to her anymore.

She hopes, anyway. Hope is all she has left.

She makes it through the meeting without having to fight the temptation to close her eyes and put her head back too many times; thankfully it's short, doesn't take long. She's able to sit quietly and simply listen for the majority of it, contributing just often enough to keep anyone from worrying about her. When one of the casting directors remarks that he was impressed by the chemistry between her and Sapphira she merely agrees, nodding when asked if she would be happy to mentor her for the live shows. Jenna decides it's probably best not to mention that her and Sapphira's in-character bond might have something to do with the amount of off-the-record time they've spent together.

The four of them- Jenna, Matt, David and Billie- are all free to go within an hour or so. The writers, producers and casting directors will all discuss the casting choices further, before letting the four of them know who they'll be mentoring for the live shows and then the auditionees themselves will be informed. The live shows won't be starting for another two weeks, rehearsals beginning in a weeks' time; Jenna doesn't know whether to be glad about that or not.

On the one hand, a week off gives her the chance to pull herself together a little and lose some more weight; at present, the thought of spending every Saturday night from now until mid-December in front of a live television camera is filling Jenna with panic.

On the other hand, that's a whole week to spend alone in her flat with the voices in her head to torment her, a whole week of this desperate unhappiness with little to serve as a distraction.

In some ways, Jenna thinks she might prefer an extra couple of weeks of the dreaded live television cameras and an entire nation laughing at her. More than that, if BBC America's plans to show Who's Companion the night after in the United States end up going ahead.

"Does anyone fancy going out tonight?" Billie asks as the four of them make their way back down the corridor, away from the conference room. "Lawrence said he'd look after the kids tonight, apparently there's a new place in Soho that's nice…"

Even when David and Matt agree, still Jenna makes her excuses. If she's perfectly honest with herself, the thought of venturing into another nightclub so soon after her latest experience with Oscar fills her with a strange sense of dread and fear, and try as she might she can't work out why. Not to mention the fact that she now feels even more tired than before, as though she's going to struggle to keep her eyes open long enough to make it through the half hour tube journey back to her flat without falling asleep and ending up in North London, let alone a night out. She's tired, far too tired, and besides, there are far too many calories in the average cocktail for her to be allowing herself to go out drinking more than once a week, even with the painkillers she's still on limiting her consumption considerably. She's already going out for drinks with Oscar tomorrow night; she's going to have to be careful about that, limit the amount she drinks and stick to diet coke after that. She's going to have to make sure, at least, that she does a better job of it than she must have done last time.

And in addition to all that, Jenna reminds herself, it's her date with Oscar tomorrow night, and the last thing she wants is to be tired for that.

And so Jenna says goodbye to Matt, Billie and David and makes her way back to the tube station alone, yawning, pinching herself repeatedly on the tube home in a desperate bid to keep herself awake. Fortunately for her, she arrives back to a note on the kitchen table from Gemma and Becky and Kate telling her that they've gone out for the day, and to expect them home around 6pm. That gives her a couple of hours, Jenna calculates, a couple of hours of the flat to herself with no one to check up on her.

She strips off her dress and collapses into her bed, curling up under the covers, setting her alarm for an hour and a half and closing her eyes, willing herself to sleep.

She can't get comfortable. She's stuck in that awkward limbo-like state of being almost too exhausted to fall asleep, too alert and conscious of the pain her body is currently in to totally relax. Jenna brushes her hands along the incision running up her belly; it feels itchy, uncomfortable, possibly beginning to heal over, she's not entirely sure.

Perhaps removing the dressing from her wound wasn't such a stupid idea after all; perhaps allowing some air to get to it is helping it to heal at last. Jenna still doesn't remember doing it, but perhaps she was previously too harsh on herself about it, perhaps she was thinking at least a little logically when she removed the dressing. Admittedly it makes choosing clothes to wear a little tricky; it's going to have to be dresses without tights for the foreseeable future, anything with a waistband digs in uncomfortably, rubs at the wound. But if it heals faster, she's not complaining. Having an ugly great scar running vertically down her abdomen probably isn't going to help her body image at present.

The next day is Sunday, the day of Jenna's date with Oscar. She can't decide whether it's a first date or not. She's never really done the whole dating thing properly before now; she's always been too shy, much preferred to meet people and get to know them in large groups, only branching off into date-type scenarios once she felt comfortable enough with the person in question to be alone with them.

With Oscar tonight, not only is there that complication, but there's also the issue of whether they are treating this as a 'first date' as such or not. Can they even pretend as though it's a first date given their encounter on Wednesday night? Jenna isn't sure, and she certainly isn't going to be asking Oscar for his opinion on the matter. No, Jenna decides, sorting through her wardrobe in search of something to wear, that certainly isn't an option. She's just going to have to turn up and play it by ear, allow Oscar to set the tone for their date and take it from there, play along and pretend that it was exactly how she had planned to approach the evening, too.

There's always the option of not going, of course, but Jenna refuses to consider it. She wants to go, of course she does. She wants to get to know Oscar, she wants to grow to like him, even if she's almost certain she could never love him.

She wants to feel wanted, as though despite all her imperfections, someone likes her enough to want to be with her. Is that really such a bad thing?

Jenna allows Becky to do her hair for the date, spending the last ten minutes or so before she leaves sat in front of the mirror in Becky's room, watching her curl her hair, pinning the front up elaborately. She doubts her friend realises how uncomfortable she feels being made to spend so long sat staring at her own reflection- how could she? She still hasn't managed to find the words to tell anyone, has more or less made up her mind to keep it a secret now, given up even entertaining the idea of confiding in anyone at all. And that means that Jenna has to endure those long ten minutes in front of the mirror, force her eyes to focus on Becky's reflection rather than her own at all costs.

She knows only too well that she's going to be in no fit state to go out on a date this evening if she allows her brain to switch itself into full self-loathing mode.

"Are you sure about that dress?" Becky asks Jenna halfway through doing her hair, frowning a little. "I mean, it looks gorgeous on you, but you're going on a date with someone you clearly like, you don't want something, I don't know… more bodycon?"

It's fortunate, really, that Jenna has her operation as an excuse. She tells Becky that she still feels swollen and sore after her operation, that she'd rather not draw attention to certain parts of her body just for the moment. It's not completely a lie, plus Becky is going to interpret it as Jenna finally starting to confide in her friends; it'll keep her happy, if nothing else. Maybe she'll even tell Gemma and Kate whilst later this evening and it'll make them feel better too, stop them worrying about her.

Jenna hopes so. The irony of all this is that she really, really doesn't want them to worry about her. That isn't what all this is about at all.

She arrives at the bar at which she and Oscar had agreed to meet exactly on time, more nervous than she had expected to feel (and that's saying something, she had anticipated a reasonable amount of nerves). She hasn't had a lot of boyfriends; Richard was only her second, and she was with him for two years, the boyfriend before him around three and a half if she remembers correctly. Consequently, she hadn't done an awful lot of this first, awkward, getting to know one another phase, and this is the first time she's had to do it in rather a long time.

All things considered, it's only natural to be nervous, Jenna tells herself. Of course it is.

Jenna wanders into the bar alone and takes a seat near the window, resolving to wait for him inside. It's only just September and a summery sunset hovers delicately over the capital even at eight in the evening, and yet Jenna feels positively cold waiting for Oscar standing outside. She makes the decision to wait inside as a harsh chill reverberates through her, wishing she had thought to bring a cardigan. He'll think to look for her inside, Jenna decides, and besides, if she positions herself within sight of the window, she can wave to him if he tries to wait outside for her.

Is it normal to feel this nervous about going on a date, to worry so unnecessarily about such minor details?

Oscar arrives at around five minutes past eight, walks straight into the bar and looks around for a moment, before noticing Jenna in the corner by the window and waving, making his way over.

"Hi," he greets her, sliding into the seat opposite. "Sorry I'm a bit late, got caught in traffic. So how are you? Good week?"

She smiles shyly, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "That's alright, I haven't been here long. I'm not too bad, thanks, how about you?"

He's easy to talk to, Jenna realises. She might have known Oscar through Richard and Matt for a couple of years now but she's never known him very well, only really encountered him on the odd night out and never before had the chance to have a proper chat with him. But he's nice; she concludes as Oscar heads over to the bar to buy them some drinks, he's perfectly pleasant. He's laid back, easy to get on with; there's none of the lingering awkwardness she had been so afraid there might be after the events of Wednesday night. She still could never love him; Jenna is certain of that, the physical attraction for that simply isn't there, not even in essence.

But she likes him, that's something she is certain of. She likes him, she likes him as a person, and she wants to make him happy, even if it's only for a while.

She wants some reassurance that she remembers how to make someone else happy; because she thought she knew how when she was with Richard but she clearly went and got that one all wrong.

"Thanks," Jenna smiles gratefully, accepting her drink from Oscar. One alcoholic drink, she tells herself, that's all she's allowed and then she's back on the diet coke. Apart from anything, no breakfast, a small salad for lunch and nothing for dinner (she may have told a slight lie and told her flatmates she was having dinner with Oscar) and excessive quantities of alcohol, plus her painkillers, is a recipe for disaster by anyone's standards.

Tonight is the first time she's really paid much in the way of attention to Oscar, Jenna realises a couple of hours in; what that says about her given she climbed into bed with him earlier in the week she doesn't particularly want to know. He's not bad looking, she concludes. Not her type, not really, but not bad looking. He's tall, much taller than her, taller even than Matt, which is no mean feat. Tall, blond hair, well-built and muscular- Jenna vaguely remembers Richard telling her once that Oscar had played a lot of rugby at university. Perhaps. It's a couple of hours into their date now and she can't quite be sure, her head is beginning to feel a little fuzzy.

Her vision begins to blur all of a sudden. She sways, confused, and the bar fades away, and then there's a flurry of movement and the next thing she knows a new scene swims into focus. No, not focus as such, because still Jenna's eyes aren't quite focusing normally, her vision hazy, and not merely because of the dimly lit room she's now in, she's sure of it. Her eyes weren't this pathetic back in the bar.

Were they?

Her limbs feel heavy, not quite her own, Jenna realises as she attempts to lift her legs; they flop into a tangled heap to her right when she tries to push off the floor and stand up. Except it's not the floor, her brain tells her after considerable delay, it's not the floor beneath her feet, she's not sitting down anymore. She's lying, sprawled across a soft surface which smells a little familiar, she just can't think where from. There's a shadowy figure leaning down on her, hands pressing down heavily on her hip bones, and she gasps, pained. It hurts. It's hurting her.

"Shhh," a voice soothes, trying to calm her. "Shhh, it's alright, don't you remember?"

She tries to speak, but all that will leave her mouth is a soft whimper.

"Hey, it's OK. We left the bar, got a taxi back to mine, I invited you back and you said yes, don't you remember?"

Vaguely, Jenna realises. If she really concentrates, she can see the scenes flashing before her eyes as though watching snapshots of somebody else's life. Oscar telling- no, inviting, that was what he'd just said, wasn't it- they were going back to his place, a faint blur of a taxi ride home, staggering up to his flat and being thrown- collapsing, maybe, collapsing?- back onto his bed.

"Shhh. I know you remember. You're so beautiful," he whispers, smothering her; there's too much weight pressing down on her abdomen and that horrible, hollow feeling has returned. "You're so beautiful, and you're mine," he tells her possessively. "All mine." He leans forward and presses his lips to hers and she kisses him back, caught up in the moment, her arms moving to wrap around his neck.

She's dreaming.

She must be. No one in their right minds would call her beautiful.

She's confused when she awakes the following morning. Not because she doesn't remember how she got here; she remembers Oscar placing her down on the bed perfectly clearly, telling her she was beautiful.

She's confused because she doesn't remember what happened next.

She's confused because her body aches, because that awful hollow feeling in her abdomen is back worse than ever, and she doesn't understand why she didn't just tell him he was hurting her and ask him to roll off of her. He's the perfect gentleman, she knows he would have obliged if she had requested it.

She moans, pained, rolling onto her side and wrapping her arms around her midsection, screwing her eyes shut in the vain hope that it might block out some of the awful throbbing inside her. Her stomach muscles scream in agony, unable to support her properly as side collapses into a heap half on her left side, half on her front, and Jenna whimpers in response, helpless, in too much pain to remain in this position much longer and yet also suffering too much to gather the strength to move.

"Jenna? Jenna?" Suddenly a pair of arms is forced under her own, jerking her up sharply into a sitting position, pushing her back against the headboard. Oscar, Jenna realises, her brain finally kicking into gear, it's Oscar. She doesn't think he realises his own strength sometimes.

"Hey, you OK?" he asks her worriedly, perching on the edge of the bed beside her.

Jenna can't find the strength to respond at first, merely pants, her breathing laboured as she struggles to get her breath back, calm herself down. She leans back heavily against the headboard, fingers brushing across her incision a little frantically, panicked. It feels as though it's been ripped open, as though the wound has been ripped clean down the middle and there's nothing to stop what remains of her internal organs spilling out of her uncontrollably, as revolting as it sounds. She knows that isn't the case, of course, but that's what it feels like.

She nods at last, aware that Oscar is going to start worrying if she doesn't come up with some sort of response sooner or later, and she doesn't want him to worry, of course not. "I'm OK," she manages. "Just… sorry, it's not you…"

"It's alright." Oscar gestures awkwardly, stiffly, to the thick red line running down her belly- she's naked, Jenna realises, it's horribly visible now she's sat upright because she's stark naked. She's stark naked and he's in a dressing gown; he must have woken a while ago. "What did you do?" he asks.

"I…" Jenna stammers, suddenly feeling rather embarrassed. It's ugly, she realises, she hasn't fully appreciated how ugly it is before. And she's going to be stuck with it forever. "I had an operation a couple of weeks ago, I don't really want to talk about it…"

Oscar shrugs. "OK."

She frowns in response. "That's it? You're going to let me get away with that, without any explanation?"

"If you don't want to tell me, then yes." Oscar pauses, frowning. "So you had it on Wednesday?" he asks, the realisation dawning. "I'm so sorry, I didn't notice, we were both so drunk…"

"No, no, it's fine, I knew what I was doing," Jenna insists. There's a small voice in the back of her head wondering if she really _did_ know what she was doing, if she really knew on Wednesday and if she really knew last night, but she shuts it out, stubbornly ignores it.

She doesn't want to think about that.

"You don't regret it?" Oscar leans in towards her, his lips tantalisingly close to hers. "You don't regret last night, do you?"

She leans in to brush her lips against his for the moment, buying herself some time to think. She does remember a little of last night's happenings, Jenna realises, not much, just some vague flashes, curiously hazy recollections.

She remembers him being on top of her, heavy, she remembers him embracing her passionately, arms around her, she remembers him pressing a finger to her lips sharply in what she supposes must have been intended as a comforting gesture when he claimed her too fast, instinctual, almost primeval, and she whimpered in pain. But that's only a brief echo of a memory; she doesn't remember what happened before that and she doesn't remember what happened next. She certainly doesn't remember how she responded. Had they both been so caught up in the moment, so attracted to each other that each had been rough with the other, was that what had happened?

It must have been Jenna concludes. It must have been, and yet it doesn't make sense. She can't imagine she could possibly have been so violently passionate (especially given the fact that she's not particularly attracted to him to start with) last night with Oscar, it's just not her, she just wouldn't have been. Not even drunk would she have behaved like that, she's sure of it. And yet she can't think of any other explanation; Oscar wouldn't have been like that with her had he not been completely sure she wanted it. Even if he had, he would have stopped if she'd asked him too; no, he's such a gentleman that he would have stopped if she hadn't gone along with it, had given off an air of being uncomfortable with it all, not wanting him to be so rough and willing him to slow down. He wouldn't have wanted to make her feel used and hurt.

Would he?

Or maybe this is normal? Maybe that's the problem; maybe she simply has no concept of what's normal and what's not as far as the bedroom department is concerned? It's possible, Jenna decides. Sometimes she wonders if it's a slightly embarrassing thing to admit to, but Richard and the boyfriend who came before him are the only men she's been with like that. Does that qualify her as experienced, if she's only been with two other men besides Oscar? She doesn't know. God, this is an awkward trail of thought, even to be restricted to the confines of her own head.

Maybe this is perfectly normal. Maybe this is a strain of normal she hasn't encountered before, but still perfectly normal. Maybe she's being completely and utterly pathetic, making a fuss about nothing, and once she gets used to it all it won't feel so… so… so strange, perhaps, the following morning?

None of that contemplation, of course, has answered the question in hand.

"No," Jenna tells him at last as she pulls away, sliding off the edge of the bed beside him, startled a little when he catches her, pulling her into his lap. "No, of course not. I don't regret it at all."

* * *

**I'm saying nothing- reviews would be wonderful, I'd love to know what you're thinking after this one. Just don't hate me too much, I promise some lighter chapters are coming up soon. This is the worst of the angst... for now ;) I'm now halfway through chapter 23 so hopefully I'll update in the next few days, the more reviews I get, the earlier it will be :P xx**


	21. Chapter 21

**This one's a bit lighter than the last chapter, and then chapter 22 is the Matt chapter- I thought you might need it! Chapter 23 will test whether or not you've been paying attention ;) and then I'm halfway through chapter 24 at the moment, that one's a bit subjective. Chapter 25 will be much nicer though, promise :) Thank you so much all you amazing reviewers, zoz, the twenty third of november, planet of the deaf, S (I couldn't possibly say :P ), copiesofclara, guest, DoctorWhoFanWarrior11, Remembermewhen, RedAugust102, PartyintheTardis12 (I'm saying nothing ;)), MemorialFantasy, McKenzieAnne, finchel4everbelieveinthetether, Vivaciousreader, Yura Oh, Kaicchan, GoodKarma92, what a day we had, proellusionist, guest, savethedaleks, soufflewhouffle and the wonderful grednforgesgirl for adding this fic to her community, I think that was the best set of reviews I've received yet. Thank you so much all of you for all your support so far, please do keep reviewing.**

**Chapter 21**

She gets the email on Monday night, a little earlier than she had expected. Not that its contents is much of a surprise; it's just as she predicted, her mentees for the Who's Companion live shows are Francesca, Ross, Harry and Sapphira. It's probably the best combination she could have hoped for given the five she was working with on Saturday, Jenna reasons. Acting ability aside, Harry is somewhere around the age of ten-eleven (she can't quite remember, does that make her a terrible mentor before she's even properly started?), Francesca and Ross are both adults (somewhere in her twenties and somewhere in his thirties respectively) and Sapphira is Sapphira, she's perfectly happy to have Sapphira despite her now being the youngest left in the competition, the youngest to go through to the live shows. Sapphira aside, Jenna would rather have as few of the younger contestants as possible; she's not entirely sure they're mature enough to cope with the pressure, doesn't want to have to be the one to hold them together and wipe the tears and pick up the pieces.

The only way to truly justify Sapphira being the exception to her not wanting to deal with young children in case they crack under the rather immense pressure of having to perform to a live audience every week, like clockwork, for the foreseeable future would be if she was almost certain that Sapphira has a maturity beyond her years and is capable of braving it all without becoming overwhelmed, Jenna concludes. And that's not the case at all.

The simple truth of the matter is that, in all honesty, Jenna doesn't think she would particularly mind getting Sapphira through weeks of live show performances. In fact, she doesn't think she would view spending a potential thirteen weeks in Sapphira's company as a chore, a necessary evil with the promise of a pay check at the end of it.

She likes Sapphira, she likes spending time with her. There's an innocence about her that seems to make her incapable of allowing the world to weigh her down, even though the more Jenna talks to her the more she suspects that her childhood is not the carefree one that she remembers living aged seven. She likes talking to Sapphira because somehow she manages to make her feel better, because somehow when she smiles she makes Jenna want to smile too, because there's an infectious determination to remain light-hearted and refuse to allow the evils of the world to consume her and alter her approach to life's hurdles.

She's the one person who seems to have the ability to cheer Jenna up at present, and she does so without even trying. She never asks what's wrong and yet somehow she seems to sense that something isn't quite right, Jenna is sure of it. It's as though she knows not to ask, senses somehow that whatever it is that's wrong, the last thing Jenna wants to do is to talk about it. She seems to realise that a distraction is the best thing possible at the moment, that she can't heal the broken pieces of Jenna's heart until she wants her to, and in the meantime all she can do is make her smile, make life a little more bearable.

Sapphira can't possibly be conscious of all this of course; she's seven, seven year olds simply aren't conscious of this sort of thing. They wouldn't understand it even if they were. And yet still Sapphira manages to make her feel better, still that air of innocence in small, concentrated doses seems to be enough to hold Jenna together, to prevent everything she's been through over the course of the past few weeks from becoming too much and consuming her completely.

Jenna takes her time reading the email through; it arrives in her inbox a couple of minutes before Becky serves up dinner, and Jenna realises quickly that they won't wait for her, that if she takes her time reading this and allows her flatmates to start without her, she will be able to dump at least half of her dinner into the kitchen bin behind her flatmates' backs, leave just enough on her plate to ensure she's only eating the bare minimum, maximising her chances of losing more weight this week, and still fooling Gemma and Becky and Kate into believing that she's eating perfectly normally, that there's nothing to worry about at all. Not that there is anything to worry about, of course; maybe that's not the best way of putting it. It's more that they wouldn't understand. If she were to tell them she was cutting down on what she ate because she was far too fat and ugly and desperately needed to lose some weight if she were ever to be considered even vaguely attractive ever again, they wouldn't understand. Jenna knows they wouldn't. They would roll their eyes at her and sigh in mock-despair the way they did back in their senior sixth year, almost ten years ago now. They would tell her firmly not to be so stupid, that she was being ridiculous and not to worry about it any longer. They would be no use, just like they were before.

Actually, more than that; they would be a hindrance. Maybe once she had set the scene, made it clear to her flatmates that she's rapidly becoming obsessed by her weight and the way she looks, they would start to watch her more closely. Maybe they would start to realise the lengths she's been going to of late to conceal how little she's eating, maybe they would attempt to stop her, force her to eat more in the way of calories than Jenna knows deep down she can afford to allow herself.

She won't let them make her even fatter, even more hideous than she already is. She won't let them. She has this whole weight thing under control, all by herself, and the last thing she needs is her flatmates butting in and ruining it all. She's made a good start, Jenna tells herself; she's managed to lose half a stone exactly now. She can't allow her flatmates to jeopardise her chances of losing even more.

That's how Jenna comes to be picking at Kate's lasagne alone in her room in front of her laptop on that Monday night, half-focusing on the BBC email about the Who's Companion live show rehearsals, set to begin next Monday, half worrying about how much of this god-damn lasagne she can allow herself to eat and how exactly she is going to dispose of the rest of it.

She puts down her fork and takes her knife, cutting the lasagne on her plate cleanly into halves, then into quarters. She picks up her fork again and pulls away the smallest quarter, setting it on the opposite side of her plate in amongst her salad, before taking a handful of tissues from the box beside her bed and scooping the remaining three quarters of the lasagne into them, wrapping it up and shoving it into the bottom of her bin.

It's not that she's not hungry; she's starving, in fact.

But Jenna knows full well that if she wants to ever be thin, she can't allow herself to eat it.

She focuses all her attention on the email once the majority of her lasagne is safely disposed of, hoping that having something else to concentrate on will allow her to forget how hungry she feels.

Her role in all of this, 'mentoring' aside, is apparently to partake in scenes with each of her mentees on stage, either in small groups with other actors, other contests, a mix of both or one to one. Plus answer any questions, offer some emotional support if it all gets a little overwhelming and stressful (god help her, when she can barely hold herself together at the moment) and generally show them the ropes, so to speak. Plus minor supervision over the younger ones' talent rehearsals, apparently. Nobody saw fit to warn her that she was effectively signing herself up to a potential thirteen weeks of babysitting.

And she has to meet the parents, Jenna realises, skimming down the email. Harry and Sapphira's parents are expected to come in for a meeting with the producers, and she is expected to be present. It's just to reassure the parents, according to the email, to reassure them that their child is going to be looked after throughout this whole extravaganza, that no one is assuming they have the same ability to cope with the pressures of this that an adult does. Jenna isn't entirely convinced that the adult contestants have the ability to cope with the weekly schedule she's been sent a copy of, either, but that's a whole other issue.

She's nervous about meeting Sapphira's mother. She's far more nervous about meeting Sapphira's mother (and possibly her father- is there a father? She doesn't remember Sapphira mentioning her father, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything. If there is a father then he and Sapphira's mother are no longer together, given that Sapphira has referred to her younger sister Sienna's father as just that, 'Sienna's dad') than she is about meeting Harry's. She's nervous about meeting Harry's parents, too, nervous that they will take one look at her and decide that actually, they don't think they trust her enough to be given the role of their son's mentor for the next few weeks. She's worried that Sapphira's mother might come to the same conclusion, but that's not all that's concerning her.

In all honesty, Jenna is really rather worried that the impression of Sapphira's mother she has in her head, resulting from her conversations with Sapphira and the small snippets of information she has let slip, perhaps without quite realising how much she's let on, is going to be confirmed.

Friday, she notes. She has to meet the parents on Friday.

Somehow, this is even more terrifying than meeting the parents in the usual sense.

She meets the parents on Friday, and then a week today, Monday, rehearsals for the first of the live shows begin. Rehearsals Monday-Friday, live show Saturday, stop and breathe for a moment on Sunday before putting together a plan of attack for week two and repeat until there's no one left to repeat with.

It sounds exhausting. Simple enough, but exhausting.

The meeting is being left until Friday because the producers are still finalising some arrangements for rehearsals for the all-singing-all-dancing-stage-show part of the lives shows, as Steven has taken to calling it. They're arranging singing coaching and choreography, more or less because the younger ones are too young to do it themselves and it's not fair to do it for them and not the older ones. The majority of the sixteen contestants going through to the live shows are singing, which is sorted. Then there are two of them, Lucas and Ben, who are doing urban street dance (Jenna finds that when she stops to think about it, she can't quite remember which of them is which- is that terrible of her?), that's sorted, they've found a whole host of London-based top choreographers keen to work with them.

And then there's Sapphira, and she presents more of a challenge.

This particular issue has been perfectly clear to Jenna right from the start, but of course the production team behind Who's Companion couldn't possibly have seen it until now. Sapphira has learnt to dance by joining in with her older sister's rhythmic gymnastics practice at home, which has resulted in something very different from the classical modern and jazz taught most commonly in the UK, closer to American competition-style dancing. It might have been the style she was taught as a child, into her teenage years, but her old dance teachers had been American, sisters trained in American competition-style dance who had come over to Blackpool originally for the ballroom championships and never left, founding their own dance studio instead. It was far from common to be taught US competition style in the UK, as Jenna had realised around the age of fourteen at which her burning desire to act had kicked in, and she had ended up begging her parents to allow her to do back to back local theatre rehearsals and lyrical classes on a Wednesday night despite her year 9 mid-week homework overload, because there simply wasn't an alternative.

All of that considered, there had been no doubt in Jenna's mind right from the very beginning of the Who's Companion auditions that the production team was going to struggle to find someone local with enough time on their hands to be able to commit to teaching and choreographing for Sapphira for the next few weeks, potentially more or less until Christmas. Especially at such short notice (but then again, this whole thing has been thrown together at ridiculously short notice to replace the Saturday night entertainment show void left behind by the sudden cancelation of Strictly Come Dancing, Jenna reasons, so perhaps she shouldn't be too harsh on the producers). Their best bet is most likely going to be to line up a string of American choreographers to do a couple of weeks each and fill the gaps with technique from a rhythmic gymnastics coach, Jenna reasons, though as she scans down the email it becomes apparent that's already been suggested by a London classical tap, jazz and modern teacher.

She could have told them that quite easily, of course, but a part of Jenna is rather worried that if she were to confess to being so clued up about the style of dancing in question, she mind find herself assigned Sapphira's teacher and choreographer before she had a chance to protest. Which is absolutely not happening, not in a million years, not even as a last resort; as much as Jenna likes Sapphira, she isn't prepared to take on that responsibility. Mostly for Sapphira's own good; it's been ten years now since Jenna has danced anywhere that's not her bedroom with the door firmly shut and she's a far cry from a choreographer; no way in hell is she even remotely capable of being dance teacher and choreographer all rolled into one. Absolutely not.

The more she thinks about it, the more Jenna decides that this whole Who's Companion thing is badly thought out, end of. Hopefully it will be a one off and she won't be put through it all again next year.

Gemma, Becky and Kate are certainly more excited about the whole thing than Jenna is.

"Can we watch their auditions?" Becky wants to know. "The ones you're mentoring, I mean. You've still got the DVD of their auditions, right?"

Their enthusiasm is so the polar opposite of Jenna's own mood they make her laugh.

"Yep, I've still got the DVD," she confirms, teasing them. "But whether or not I'm allowed to show it to you is another matter."

"Oh come on!" Gemma protests. "What's the point of being best friends with someone who gets to do all sorts of cool stuff if they won't let you have an off the record sneak preview?"

All three of them watch her intently, and Jenna finds she hasn't the heart, or the energy, come to that, to say no.

"Oh go on then," she tells them, mock sighing, giving in. "But you're only watching the four I'm mentoring, OK?"

It ends up being a rather interesting experience, allowing her flatmates to watch Ross, Francesca, Harry and Sapphira's audition tapes; apart from anything, to test who's going to go down well and who's not. Gemma, Becky and Kate aren't madly excited about Ross, but they like Francesca, although they think they'd be more excited about buying her album than they would seeing her star in a television series, which is potentially a bad sign, Jenna concludes. They think Harry's brilliant and likeable, predicting that he'll go far. Sapphira's acting is pretty good, they decide, though she's not as convincing as Harry is, a couple of years her senior. Perhaps she's a little too young for this.

"You know what this reminds me of?" Gemma comments halfway through the dance section of Sapphira's audition. "Those photos your mum and dad have got of you on their landing. She's great… is that why they assigned her to you? Because you used to dance like her?"

"No, pure coincidence," Jenna tells them honestly. "They did the assigning off of the audition workshops; they just did it according to who worked well with who. And anyway, I wouldn't be any good now," she laughs. "Just because I could dance like that ten years ago, doesn't mean I still can."

"You could teach her, though. You could!" Gemma insists when Jenna laughs, shaking her head firmly. "You'd be great at it! You could even perform with her if you put your mind to it, you could do…"

"No, no, no, no, no, definitely not!" Jenna says adamantly, shaking her head. "I do actually want her to win, remember!"

"Exactly! It'd be cute!"

"It definitely wouldn't!" Jenna protests. "Absolutely not happening! Anyway, hopefully the producers will find Sapphira a proper choreographer…"

"So they haven't found anyone to choreograph for her yet? Oh come on, you could so do that!" Kate exclaims eagerly. "You wouldn't even have to be able to do anything yourself for that, you just have to put dances together for her, how hard can that be? You used to be able to do all sorts…"

"Yeah, emphasis on the 'used to' part!" Jenna reminds her, refusing to give in. "Trust me, I'm so not the right person to be doing that…"

"Why don't you ask your old teachers, then?" Gemma suggests. "Have you kept in contact? Surely you must know someone who'd want to do it. "They'd probably be flattered that you asked them, I bet they'd love to have their choreography on national television. Go on, why don't you ask them?"

In all fairness, it's not a bad suggestion.

"I don't know," Jenna deliberates. "I mean, it's a good four hour drive down from Blackpool, that's OK for a one-off, not so much on a regular basis…"

"Oh, go on," Gemma encourages her. "You might as well ask. What's the worst they can say? Anyway," she points out. "You want Sapphira- is that how you say her name? You want her to win, don't you? You were amazing at dancing at school, I remember you doing those spin things in Mrs Turner's badminton lessons when she was in the PE cupboard." She smiles at the memory, giggling all of a sudden. "And then that one time in year nine, I think you'd only just started a few weeks beforehand and you were doing those front flip things in the air…"

"Front aerials?" Jenna suggests, cringing. She's not entirely sure, but she thinks she's currently recalling the same year nine PE lesson as Gemma, and she's already a little embarrassed.

"Probably. You were doing them down the edge of the sports hall when we were supposed to be playing unihoc, and Mrs Turner came back in and nearly had a heart attack thinking you were going to trip over the unihoc puck and crack your head open, do you remember?"

"Yes alright, the less that's said about my hatred of Mrs Turner's PE lessons, the better!" Jenna protests, though she's laughing with them now. "In fact, the less that's said about my year nine rebellious phase, the better. How did we even get onto this, anyway?"

"The point is, you were brilliant," Gemma insists. "So your dance teachers can't have been bad, can they? Think about it?" she suggests. "At least think about it."

* * *

**How was it? If you want the Matt chapter, you know what you have to do... :)**


	22. Chapter 22

**The Matt chapter you've all been waiting for :) I'm running a little behind schedule for various reasons but hoping to catch up this weekend, so don't panic :) I am uploading this in a bit of a rush though, this is going to have to be the quickest author's note ever, so if I haven't replied to your PM yet I'm not ignoring you, I'll get to it in a bit, I promise! Huge hugs to all my wonderful reviewers, crazybowtiegirl, what a day we had, librarykate, Imaginarysky, zoz, McKenzieAnne, finchel4everbelieveinthetether, guest, the twenty third of November, chasingthestars123, MemorialFantasy, Vivaciousreader, grednforgesgirl, remembermewhen, I am Clara Oswald, Alicehightopp, guest and Lilliascraven, you guys are fab. Reviews would be especially amazing this time around, today has been horrible. Clearly I have no shame, sorry. **

**Just to embellish on my disclaimer in the first chapter, when I write this, I think of the characters as based on the originals and carrying an essence of them, but as being my own characters and not trying to make them as close to their namesakes as possible in any way. I am treating Doctor Who as the fanfic element in a sense and making the characters my own completely in terms of how I characterise them, I am NOT trying to replicate real people. I know it's a hazy area, hence my refining the disclaimer. Please think of the characters in this fic as just that, my characters, based off of their namesakes but made my own.**

**Thanks so much all of you for all your support,**

**Emeline x**

**Chapter 22**

_You only need the light when it's burning low,_

_Only miss the sun when it starts to snow,_

_Only know you love her when you let her go._

It's only after Matt has spoken to Oscar about his newly-kindled relationship with Jenna that the reality of the situation fully sinks in.

He meets up with Oscar on Tuesday night in one of Soho's more glamorous bars, and it's only in the taxi back home later that night that Matt realises he's spent the best part of a week- from the moment he awoke last Thursday morning and realised what had occurred between Oscar and Jenna right up until now, in a fierce state of denial.

He had had no proof either way, of course, but somehow Matt had managed to convince himself that it must have been a one night stand, that there was no way anything serious could be happening between Oscar and Jenna. It was too soon, he had told himself, far too soon for Jenna. It was only five and a bit weeks, getting on for six, since Richard had ended things with her and she had fallen to pieces, only just over a week since her myomectomy. It was too soon, far too soon for her to be even contemplating a serious relationship. She would wake up the morning after and regret it, he was convinced of that, completely and utterly convinced of it.

An incredibly selfish part of him had hoped, just a little, that if she were to call anyone in the aftermath for comfort, it would be him.

But no call had come. No call had come, and an evening texting Oscar had informed Matt that Jenna had accepted his invitation out on a date on Sunday night. He was serious about her, he had said, he was serious about her and he hoped she felt the same way.

He hadn't known quite how to reply to that.

And then just half an hour later, Jenna had tried to call him, and Matt had found that somehow his hands had become temporarily paralysed, simply refused to move when he tried to spur them into action and persuade them to pick up the phone.

He had let her call ring out, and when she had texted him asking if he had any plans for tomorrow, Friday, that was, he had tapped out a quick, abrupt reply, making up some crap about having plans already and pressed send before he had the chance to change his mind.

He was angry at her, he was angry at both of them, and yet he couldn't quite explain why.

It's only in that cab on Tuesday night on the way back from drinks with Oscar, having listened to his friend talk about little but Jenna and how well their first proper date went, how he thinks he loves her, that Matt finally understands.

He loved her first. He's loved her, unconditionally, for a long, long time now.

He just never realised.

He never realised, not even after first realising he had feelings for Jenna just over a week ago did he manage to put the pieces together.

He never realised, and now it's too late.

He can't ever tell her now, Matt realises. He can't possibly tell her, not if Oscar and Jenna are getting along so well in their new relationship. He loves her too much to jeopardise her happiness, especially after all she's been through of late. She deserves to be happy, no question about it.

He just wishes it were with him.

He invites her round to his flat on Wednesday night. It's two days before he, Jenna, Billie and David are due to meet the parents of their younger contestants, five before the craziness of the Who's Companion live show rehearsals begin, and Matt figures that if he doesn't pause for a moment to catch up with her now, it might be weeks before they're able to have a proper chat again, they're likely to be so busy. He'll see Jenna at work of course, but it's not the same as spending time alone with her.

He's only just begun to appreciate just how precious he considers the time he gets to spend alone with her.

She arrives at his flat with a bottle of wine and a box of chocolates; they're doing late, because tonight was the best night to meet up given the hectic work schedule that lies ahead, and Jenna had already promised her flatmates to go out for dinner with them earlier in the evening. He pulls her into a hug almost the moment she's through his front door, kicking it shut with his foot, his arms busy holding her close.

He frowns a little when he presses her tightly to his chest. She feels… different, somehow, she feels different, and he can't quite put his finger on why.

"You alright?" he asks her at last, releasing her from his tight embrace and sliding his hands down her arms to her wrists, pushing her away from him gently in order to get a better look at her. September has begun to turn cold again, autumn approaching. She's dressed in a pair of black leggings and a loose, deep red dress, hair pulled back softly into a ponytail, makeup minimal, natural. She looks more beautiful than ever, and still he has the feeling that there's something different about her. It's as though she's not quite there, somehow, doesn't that even make any sense? Matt wonders. It's as though she's not quite there.

"Course," Jenna smiles brightly, her tone a little too cheerful, slightly forced. Course I am, never better. You?"

"Good, thanks." Matt takes her hand and leads her through to his living room; he knows full well that particular gesture isn't needed, but somehow he can't quite resist. Her skin feels soft, smooth to the touch, her hands small and delicate and… and cold.

"Blimey, your hands are freezing!" he exclaims, flopping down onto the sofa and gently pulling her down beside him. "It's September! How can your hands be so cold in September?"

Jenna shrugs. "Poor circulation?" she offers.

Matt shakes his head. "I had to hold your hand plenty of times filming last winter, I would have noticed if your circulation was that bad." He cuts off when she shivers, small body shaking violently. "See, you're cold. It's not just your hands." He wraps his arms around her gently and pulls her into his side, trying to rub some warmth back into her bare forearms.

Jenna sighs, rolling her eyes. "I'm fine, Matt," she insists. "I don't need you to fuss over me." But she snuggles into his side regardless, only just tall enough to rest her head on his shoulder from her current angle.

It's his turn to roll his eyes at her now, caringly, though knowing full well she's oblivious. "Long day?" he asks her.

"Mmm," is all she offers him in the way of a response. Her eyes are closed, her body heavy against him, relaxed, collapsed, and Matt laughs softly. She's exhausted, he realises, feeling a little bad at having invited her round at such a late hour. Then again, he muses, she didn't have to accept.

A part of him is just a little flattered that she feels comfortable enough around him to curl up against him like this. Then again, Matt wonders if perhaps she's so tired she would have done it with anyone.

They stay like that for a few moments, quiet, peaceful, her gentle breath tickling his neck soothingly.

"How was dinner with your flatmates?" Matt asks at last, breaking the silence.

"Yep, it was fine," Jenna replies quickly, almost dismissively. And then all of a sudden she seems to become considerably more alert, sitting bolt upright, blinking furiously. "Sorry. How's your day been?" she asks, eyes wider, engaged.

Matt shrugs. "Oh, you know. Not an awful lot on, really… did a food shop, cleaned out my freezer- god that was gross, been putting it off for months- umm, what else…?"

"The mundane stuff there's only ever time for during weeks off?"

"More or less," Matt agrees. "I thought I'd been putting it off for far too long and I'd better get it over with before we're back to having no free time again."

"Good plan." Jenna frowns, eyes widening a little. "I don't even want to think about some of the stuff that might still be in my freezer."

"Oh don't! If it's anything like mine, don't even go there! Sell-by date on a packet of mixed veg, what do you reckon?"

"Oh god, it's going to be years ago, isn't it? Ummm… I don't know… March 2012?"

"Close. December 2011."

"Urgh, that's revolting! Please don't tell me you're planning on eating it!"

"Oh come on, I'm not that hopeless a cook, give me some credit!" He pauses, gaging her reaction. "That wasn't the worst offender, though."

She stares at him, a little amused, a little horrified. "It wasn't?"

"Nope. Waitrose own Arctic roll, February 2011."

"Ewwww, Matt! That's actually disgusting!"

"I forgot it was in there! And anyway, at least it was in the freezer, it's not like it was just in a packet in the kitchen or something!" Matt protests as she laughs at him, her repulsion perfectly clear from her expression. "It's been frozen for two and a half years, it's probably still edible."

"Still edible? You think after two and a half years in your freezer with the decomposing mixed veg it's still edible?" Jenna objects. "Anyway, you'd have to be mad to eat it in the first place, arctic roll is practically a slab of sugar and fat with the odd bit of e numbers thrown in."

"Oi, don't knock arctic rolls, arctic rolls are delicious!" Matt frowns, his joking, light-hearted mood gone the moment he sees the look on Jenna's face. She looks pensive, troubled. "What's wrong?"

She shakes her head firmly. "Nothing."

"Oh give me some credit, Jen, I can tell it's something." Matt pulls away from her a little in order to get a better look at her. "Tell me?" he asks gently, in what he hopes is a warm, reassuring tone.

She sighs, leaning back, pulling her knees up to her chest. "I'm worried about this whole meet the parents thing on Friday," she admits at last.

"Oh, me too," Matt assures her. "Well, no, not worried as such… a bit nervous, maybe. Why are you worried?"

Jenna sighs again, head in her hands. "Off the record?"

"Of course. Promise."

A third sigh, deeper this time. "I'm worried about Sapphira," she admits at last.

"That she's too young to be doing this?"

She shakes her head. "No, no, not that. I'm worried… she lets on more than she realises sometimes, I think, I don't know… it's complicated."

Matt frowns, wrapping his arm around her shoulders protectively. "Try?"

"It's just… I have an impression of her mum in my head, based on what she's let slip. I'm worried meeting her is going to confirm it."

The mood is darkened now; Matt has a horrible feeling he might be able to predict where Jenna is going with this. "Go on," he says slowly, cautiously.

Jenna pauses, her worry now evident on her face; Matt wonders if that's what is making her feel so tired, worrying about this. "I don't know. She just, she's come out with things a few times now, that just, I don't know… they just don't seem right, somehow."

"Like?"

"She says her mum works a lot, that she's not really around. There are three of them as far as I know; Sapphira, a younger sister and an older one, the older one gets left to look after the younger two a lot as far as I can make out. The older one's only fifteen though, and she doesn't live with them, and Sapphira says she and the mother don't get on… I just… and then the way she talks sometimes, it sounds like she's very close to the older sister but not so much to her mum… I don't know…"

"You think the older sister comes over to look after the younger ones because she knows if she doesn't the mother leaves them on their own?" Matt guesses.

Jenna sighs. "Is it really that obvious a conclusion to jump to?"

Matt deliberates carefully before he answers, not entirely sure what the right thing to say is. He can see how worried Jenna already is; the last thing he wants is to add to her fears. Yet at the same time he doesn't want to lie to her, and he can't deny that judging by what Jenna has told him, her fear does seem like the most likely scenario.

"It's possible," Matt says slowly. "It does make sense. But you can't possibly know enough to be able to tell for sure, Jen, you've only spent- what- the sum total of a couple of hours with Sapphira, max? You can't know enough to be sure you've got it right, there could be a perfectly innocent explanation." He frowns. "What about her dad?"

"I don't know if there is one. Sapphira hasn't mentioned one, she has mentioned her little sister's dad but it sounds like that's complicated."

"How so?"

"She said her little sister goes to stay with her dad some weekends, that her dad's pushing for more contact and her mum's not happy about it. It sounds like he and the mum don't get on at all, and yet her mum let him drop Sapphira off last weekend… I don't know, it just all sounds so complicated."

"Families can be complicated, though," Matt points out, not entirely sure if it's going to offer Jenna much in the way of comfort but desperate to try anything at this point. He can see how much she's been worrying about this, he can see it in her eyes. She's always been so generous, so compassionate, the whole time he's known her; sometimes Matt wonders if she's maybe too much so. "That doesn't always mean they're dysfunctional, it just means they're not straightforward."

"I know, I know that. But… I've just got a bad feeling about it," Jenna sighs. "She was upset on Saturday, I asked her what was wrong and she said her mum and older sister had had a massive row, I don't know…"

"And now you think the older sister isn't going to bother going back?"

"I don't know how much she's there anyway. She's a rhythmic gymnast…"

"Is that the one with the hoops and the ribbons?"

"Yep, that's the one. The sister's competing at national level from what I can make out, she's just missed out on the junior GB squad. But then I wonder if something's not quite right there, either, or maybe I'm just being paranoid, I don't know…"

Matt frowns, pulling out his phone. "What's the sister's name?"

"Sofia," Jenna tells him, slowly, confused. "What are you doing?"

"Googling her. Surname?"

"Sapphira's is Hoxha, H-o-x-h-a. No idea if that's the sister's too, though."

"Nothing coming up for 'Sofia Hoxha rhythmic gymnastics', hang on…" He trails off, trying a new tactic. "2013 British Rhythmic championships results: second place under 16 clubs, Sofia Vlasic, third place under 16 hoop, Sofia Vlasic. Could that be her?"

Jenna shrugs. "Potentially. Even if it is her, does that really tell us anything new?"

"No, probably not," Matt admits, defeated. "Look, try not to worry about it, try and forget about it until Friday, at least. You can't do anything about it now," he points out, seeing the look of protest on Jenna's face. "Worrying about it between now and the meeting isn't going to achieve anything. If you meet the mother on Friday and you get the impression that… I don't know… that there's something not quite right, then worry about it then and we'll take it from there. Wherever there is, we'll take it from there."

She smiles weakly, a strange, lost look in her eyes. "We?" she asks. There's vulnerability in her voice that wasn't there before.

Matt nods. "Whatever you have to do for the best, you don't have to do it by yourself," he says gently. "I'm always here."

"Thank you." She smiles at him gratefully, reaching out for his hand.

They stay like that for a good few minutes, silent, perfectly content simply being in each other's company.

He had planned to ask her about Oscar. He had planned to bring the subject up casually, see what she had to say, tell her not so truthfully he's happy for her and he's glad she's found someone who clearly thinks the world of her already, only one proper date into their relationship.

But Matt finds he can't quite bring himself to do it.

Somehow, sat her with Jenna side by side on his sofa, her hand squeezing his, his other arm still wrapped around her shoulders, sliding down slowly to stroke the small of her back, Matt can convince himself just for a moment that it's just the two of them, that on this quiet, crisp night in early September it's just them, no complications, no respective others. Just the two of them.

It's perfect. Just for tonight, having her beside him is perfect.

And if it can't last forever, why not let it last just for now?

Jenna isn't going to think it odd that he doesn't mention her and Oscar, Matt decides, she doesn't know Oscar has told him about them, for all she knows he's completely oblivious.

For now, he's going to let it stay that way.

Just for now.

_Only know you've been high when you're feeling low,_

_Only hate the road when you're missing home,_

_Only know you love her when you let her go._

_And you let her go._

_Let her go, Passenger_


	23. Chapter 23

**First of all, I'm really sorry it's been a longer wait than usual- I've been trying to sort out all my university stuff, and for some reason chapter 25 was an absolute nightmare to write. I know I could have given you this one sooner, but I'd rather you had to wait a couple of days longer now and I'm on top of it enough to make sure you don't have to wait an extra week once I've started university. Once again I'm really sorry, hope you understand. **

**Secondly, no, I haven't gone mad, this is indeed chapter 23 of If Time Could Heal and it's an important chapter too- this whole chapter is a huge clue as to why Jenna's mental state is so all over the place. I'll give you two hints: the first one is that all of the characters mentioned in this chapter are relevant, one especially so, the second is that if you've been paying close attention to the previous chapters, you'll know what I'm talking about. Come on you clever people, I know you can do it ;) And please do let me know what you're thinking via review, I'm especially interested to know what you make of this one. **

**Thank you so much as ever all my wonderful reviewers for all your support: I am Clara Oswald, What a day we had, librarykate, vivaciousreader (thanks for the hug :)), Remembermewhen (Hold that thought re Sapphira's name ;)), copiesofclara, goodkarma92, DoctorWhoFanWarrior11, guest, guest (ooohh are you from Albania or Kosovo? :)), SavetheDaleks, memorialfantasy, planet of the deaf, the twenty third of November (good theory, hold that thought :)), and Hilary Weston. If you're ever in my part of the world, you have to let me hunt you down and give you a hug. This is non negotiable :P**

**Next chapter: Jenna meets Sapphira's mum, and there's a Matt scene for you. If you leave me lots of nice reviews for this one, I promise to update before I start university at the weekend :)**

**Chapter 23**

Grace Harper is giving a private lesson when she gets the call. It's Thursday afternoon, 3.45pm or thereabouts, and she has a pupil in for a private lesson before her evening of classes begins. Thursday means studio A: lyrical 1, lyrical 2, lyrical 3, followed by an hour and a half of competition ballroom coaching and adult beginner ballroom after that. Thursdays are full on.

Before her crazy Thursday schedule begins, however, at the moment she has a half hour private lesson with Zara. Zara is eight, has been having dance lessons at Tower Dance Studios since she was three: ballet, tap, jazz and lyrical at present. Now her mother, Laura, has decided she wants her to audition for the Royal Ballet School Junior Associates scheme in January. Preferably Blackpool Tower Children's Ballet in time for next year's production, too. Not that she's asking for much, of course.

If Grace is perfectly honest, Zara is a long shot for both. Not a definite no-hoper, but a long shot. She's a decent enough dancer, but she's not a natural-born ballerina, she lacks the passionate drive and determination of Grace's successful Junior Associates candidates of years gone by. Grace has been teaching children to dance for almost thirty years now, she knows full well that children of Zara's age are capable of an almost startling level of determination when they want something badly, when they know Blackpool Tower Children's ballet and the chance to perform on stage is a very real possibility with hard work, when they understand what it means to be accepted onto a Royal Ballet Associates Scheme and desperately desire the opportunity to learn from the best.

Grace doesn't see any of that in Zara. Instead, she sees a child who likes ballet, but simply doesn't have the passion to take it much further than lessons twice a week to help with jazz and lyrical technique. At present, anyway; maybe in a few years' time Zara will have discovered that passion with maturity, work hard to sort her feet out and stretch without being nagged to and watched over constantly. Maybe she'll find that determination to do whatever it takes until her dream is achievable that Grace knows so well, but if that is to happen, it's going to have to be Zara's dream. It being her mother's simply isn't going to be enough.

In some ways, Zara Scott reminds Grace an awful lot of her mother, Laura, and yet in others she seems hardly like she remembers eight year old Laura at all. When she can get her to focus for long enough to dance her best, Zara dances exactly like Laura, as far as her technique goes.

Twenty-something years ago (Laura must be twenty seven by now, Grace calculates, so nineteen years ago, give or take) Laura Scott had stood at the barre running along the far wall of studio D just as Zara does now, her turnout not as good as it could be, her ankle flexibility letting her down. She had stood with her arms soft yet not quite perfect; gripping the barre a little with her left hand no matter how many times Grace had told her not to. When doing floor work she was vibrant, energetic, yet not quite graceful enough to be a ballerina. Powerful, yes, able to jump high off the ground, recover quickly and hold herself on relevé quite easily, but never with quite the elegance required of a true ballerina.

The differences between Laura and Zara at this stage in their dancing careers are all in their focus and determination. Grace remembers Laura's determination only too well, recalls just how much of a perfectionist she was. Even as a young child she had always wanted to do everything perfectly, become frustrated rather quickly when she was called out for sickling her foot on her arabesque for the third time. Zara becomes frustrated, too; she's very like her mother in that sense. But Zara's frustration doesn't stem from a desire to achieve perfection, it stems from simply not being that interested. It's not that she doesn't enjoy ballet, Grace is sure of that. It's just that she doesn't enjoy it enough to spend half an hour each week being corrected one-to-one on her technique, forced to spend extra time working on flexibility, learning the correct terminology.

That's fine, of course, as Zara's teacher, Grace has no issue with that. The issue is that Laura Scott has other ideas.

In all honesty, if it had been any other parent who had pushed a child like Zara forward and declared they wanted them to audition for Junior Associates, Grace would have bitten the bullet and told them that it was a long shot, that perhaps it was best for their child to simply enjoy ballet, treat it as a hobby. For the time being, at least; with every other pupil like Zara she would have told the parents just that.

With Laura, however, it's not so easy. Grace doesn't think Laura has ever quite forgiven her for refusing to allow her to audition for the Royal Ballet School Associates as a child, and for that reason, when it came to making the decision as to whether or not Zara would be allowed to audition, Grace may have been a little more lenient than she would otherwise have been. As awful as it sounds, Grace strongly suspects that the only way of truly getting the message through to Laura that her daughter simply isn't going to be the ballerina she always wanted to be herself is going to be to allow her to try and let her fail.

It's not that awful a thing to do, Grace has convinced herself. Not really. Not when she knows full well that almost certain failure to obtain a Junior Associates place will faze Laura far more than it will phase Zara. Plus if she allows the director of the Manchester Junior Associates scheme to be the one to reject Zara, rather than it being her refusing to let Zara audition on the grounds of her not being ready, not being of the highest standard required, Laura can't blame her for not trying.

In short, it's the easy way out. But Grace can live with that.

She has Zara at the barre practicing pliés when the door out of studio D into the main corridor swings part-way open.

"Miss Grace?" calls Georgia from the other side of the door, propping the door open one-handed. Georgina is one of Grace's older pupils; seventeen, works on the desk once a week in return for a free class. "Miss Grace, there's someone on the phone for you."

"Can you tell them I'll call them back?" Grace replies. They don't get an awful lot of phone calls at Tower Dance Studios and they do have a perfectly functioning answer machine; in all honesty, Grace and her sister and co-owner Rachel only 'employ' Georgina (and they use the term lightly) because it's her last year dancing with them before she heads off to university next year, and they know full well her parents can't otherwise afford all the classes she wants to do. "Who is it who's calling?"

"Former pupil," Georgina informs Grace. "I'll tell her you'll call her back, yeah?"

Former pupil, that could go one of two ways, Grace ponders: either a former pupil investigating coming back to Tower Dance Studios for classes, for themselves or for their offspring, or a former pupil getting back in touch after several years. If it's the former then she'll deal with them later; she's not a great fan of admin and it might be an enquiry concerning the classes Rachel teaches, anyway.

Former pupil getting back in touch, however, is a different matter. As awful as it sounds, Grace would be quite happy to abandon Zara for ten minutes or so for a chat.

"Hang on, did they give a name?" Grace asks, just as Georgina is about to disappear. She can always leave Georgina to finish off Zara's lesson, Zara would probably quite like that. Laura not so much, but Grace is fairly confident she can sell her some story about it being good for Georgina to get some teaching experience, and Zara being the perfect practice pupil. Laura will like that.

"Yep, Jenna. Do you want me to tell her you're teaching?"

Grace stops in her tracks. "Jenna?" She repeats. "Definitely Jenna?" She and Rachel have only ever taught one Jenna at Tower Dance Studios, she's sure of it. She remembers all of her pupils.

Jenna… Jenna-Louise... Grace remembers calling her that when shouting corrections at her across studio A, after she had realised that was what her mother called her when she was in trouble. Jenna's mother had first brought her daughter along for ballet lessons at the age of about three, and it had taken Grace (and Rachel, she supposes she should probably give Rachel at least a little of the credit) approximately five years to turn her into a dancer, as much of a dancer an eight year old can be, at least.

Ballerina, Grace remembers, more of a ballerina and a lyrical dancer. Ballerina when she was younger; Grace can recall taking Jenna to her first Junior Associates audition aged eight, can still picture the look of pure excitement on her face when she told her she had been accepted. She had spent five years on the Royal Ballet Associates scheme, only stopping when turned down when her place was reviewed at thirteen. It was a shame, Grace and Rachel had said so at the time, Grace still feels that way now when she thinks about it. If only Jenna had been a couple of inches taller; that was all it had come down to in the end. That couple of inches would most likely have made all the difference, on that particular occasion, at least.

Grace seems to remember that Jenna had taken it rather well, all things considered. Up until that point she had been set on dancing as a career, soon after she had set her heart on acting instead. It might have become a hobby, but she had carried on dancing, for the next four years, at least, even if it was more lyrical contemporary, less of a ballet focus. And then one day she had stopped turning up to dance classes and never come back.

Too much on, Jenna's mother Karen had told Grace over the phone at the time. Too much on what with it being Jenna's senior sixth year, Karen had explained apologetically; A levels to revise for, amateur theatre productions to rehearse for, all in all too much to do and not enough time to do it in. Something had to give, and at this stage in proceedings it had to be the dancing.

It was all flooding back now. It had been after that, Grace remembers, it had been after Jenna's mother had given that first excuse, the official one, that she had lowered her voice a little and told Grace that she thought her daughter's confidence was at something of an all-time low at the moment. She couldn't get her to talk, Karen had sighed; she couldn't get Jenna to talk about why. Karen was almost certain it was down to all of her daughter's friends either knowing what they were going to be doing next year or at least having a conditional university offer, while Jenna had narrowly missed out on places at all seven of the drama schools she had applied for, and was facing a year at least of waitressing or something similar to tide her over while she re-auditioned and hoped for the best.

She understood, Grace had told Jenna's mother, of course she understood. It was a stressful position for anyone to be in, let alone a not-quite eighteen year old. If Jenna wanted to come back then she was welcome any time, Grace had said, and she and Rachel had left it at that, hoping that Jenna would change her mind.

She never did. She must have stopped by Tower Dance Studios at least once again, because one afternoon when Rachel had turned up for work there had been a bunch on flowers on the doorstep addressed to both of them, thanking them for all they had done for her over the past fourteen years. And that had been that.

"Yeah, definitely Jenna," Georgina confirms. "What do you want me to tell her?"

Grace pauses. "Would you mind taking over with Zara?" she asks, glancing back over at her pupil, who is currently doing cartwheels along the back of the studio; that's the trouble with Zara, she sighs, the child possesses the shortest attention span she's ever come across in an eight year old. Unlike Laura... Laura was the same age as Jenna, Grace remembers now, they were in a lot of the same classes all those years ago. One of life's most curious coincidences.

"Zara, back at the barre, please!" Grace calls sternly, before turning back to Georgina. "Would you mind? I'm just running barre exercises with her, that's all, grade 2."

"Of course," Georgina nods. "Phone's off the hook."

"Thanks." She's out of studio D and down the brief flight of stairs in a flash, conscious that while she wants to take this phone call she doesn't want to take too long over it; Laura isn't exactly going to be thrilled if she turns up to watch the last few minutes of her daughter's lesson and finds Zara has been left with Georgina, whatever the reason.

Grace is willing to take the risk, regardless. Given the history, a part of her is a little worried that if she doesn't speak to Jenna now and puts this phone call off until later, she might just disappear off the radar again.

She reaches the office area and picks up the phone, perched on the edge of the desk. "Tower Dance Studios, Grace Harper speaking." Grace isn't quite sure what makes her take the professional approach.

The voice at the other end of the phone is shy, hesitant, and rather familiar.

"Hi. I don't know if you remember me, I was one of your pupils, about ten years ago now..."

"Jenna?" Grace asks, smiling a little. "Jenna-Louise? Of course I remember you!" It's true; she's often thought about Jenna, perhaps more so than most of her other former students she's lost contact with due to the fact that none of them have gone on to be so successful in the entertainment industry. She and Rachel have told their current pupils too many times to count that the doctor's current companion from the BBC television show once trained at their dance studio; they're immensely proud of it, in fact.

"Do you?" Still there's that shy element to her voice; Grace wonders if it's at least partly linked to the disappearing without explanation all those years ago.

"Of course I do! I remember all of you; just think how upset you'd be if I didn't!" Grace points out light-heartedly. "How are you?"

"I'm fine thank you, you?"

"Not too bad, thanks."

"I, umm..." Jenna stammers, unsure. "I was actually... umm... I was wondering if you could do me a favour, I know it's been a long time..."

"That's alright," Grace reassures her gently. "Don't worry about that. It's lovely to hear from you now, that's what matters. What was it you wanted to ask?"

* * *

**Right then, who's worked it out? ;) Let me know via review/pm, and if not a review would still be wonderful, and I might even give you another hint if you ask nicely :)**

**In other exciting news for anyone who's seen the pictures of the filming of the Christmas Special, Clara's cardigan is from Yumi- bizarrely, I ordered it online and it arrived the day before I saw the pictures. Guess what I'm wearing on Christmas day :P You can order it online from Oasis and they post to most parts of Europe, the US and Australia- a word of warning though as I know the majority of you are American- in general, a UK size is two sizes smaller than the same number in the US- eg. A UK 10 is generally a US 6. If you're thinking of ordering one and you want more help with sizing then please feel free to PM me and I'll do my best. **

**xx**


	24. Chapter 24

**I've had a pretty good few days- I've finished chapter 28 now, just starting 29. Which means I'm going to university with 4 completed chapters, so hopefully you shouldn't have to go more than a week without an update :) Chapter 27 which I finished this morning (and then wrote the whole of 28 in an afternoon, I'm having an amazing day) is definitely my favourite I've written so far, which probably means you're all going to hate it, doesn't it :P**

**Thank you so much everyone who reviewed the last chapter and Pmed, especially those of you who shared your theories, though I'm not telling you if you're right or not ;) What a day we had, SaveMeCleverBoy, RememberMeWhen, Lilliascraven (definitely not real, thankfully! But I'm going to take that as a compliment :)), the twenty third of November, guest, guest, pointeofdance (I'm not saying :P), memorialfantasy, librarykate, guest (I'm guessing you're savethedaleks? :P Don't worry, I definitely won't run out of ideas, I had to plan the whole thing out with military precision to make sure all the threads were going to come together nicely at the end! But thank you, I won't forget that), and vivaciousreader (cyber hugs to you too, please don't worry!) you are all awesome and don't ever forget it. There's more Matt in here as I know you've been missing him :)**

**One last thing- to those of you who haven't noticed yet, one of the new characters in the last chapter had already been mentioned twice before; that might confirm your suspicions one way or another... ;)**

**Chapter 24**

To Jenna, Friday morning comes around far, far too quickly. It's Friday morning she's been dreading, Friday morning that she's meant to be present when the Who's Companion Production team meet with the parents of the younger two contestants she's been assigned as mentees for the live shows, Harry and Sapphira.

She's dreading it. She's dreading it with every bone in the body, still for the reasons she promised Matt at his flat on Wednesday night that she wouldn't allow herself to worry about for another moment until her suspicions had been confirmed.

She's worried that Sapphira's mother is going to prove herself to be everything she's afraid she will be, because if she is, Jenna doesn't know what she's going to do.

Nothing, she supposes. Even if her suspicions are confirmed, she still won't have any evidence but the word of a seven year old. It's all hearsay, that's the trouble, all subjective. Perhaps Sapphira is prone to exaggeration, perhaps she says one thing meaning another, perhaps she simply gets the wrong end of the stick at times, eavesdropping on conversations she really shouldn't. Jenna has no evidence whatsoever that her interpretation of the facts has led her to the correct assumption; she could well be way off the mark, seeing things that aren't really there. She knows that.

It's just that somehow Jenna has a horrible feeling that she isn't seeing things that aren't really there at all.

There's a nervous, sick feeling of anticipation in the pit of her stomach when Jenna arrives that morning; that's when she realises that maybe Matt is right after all, maybe she is allowing her fears to consume her just a little too much. She had dismissed him when he had told her on Wednesday night that she needed to try and put her worries about Sapphira out of her mind at least until the meeting had confirmed her fears; she had decided that he didn't understand. He hadn't been there with Sapphira when she had talked about her mother, about Sofia, about the complicated arrangements with her younger sister Sienna. He hadn't seen her so upset, sobbing in the toilets on the day of her final audition, looking to all the world like a child who had been forgotten and neglected amidst her mother and sister's own problems and complications.

No, Jenna had decided, Matt couldn't possibly understand without hearing some of the things Sapphira has unintentionally revealed, and she isn't about to start trying to explain, just in case she's wrong and there's a perfectly innocent explanation for everything. Especially given that she's fairly certain she's not meant to have spent time with Sapphira outside of the audition process, Jenna certainly isn't planning on mentioning the coffee shop or the incident in the toilets for the time being. Definitely not.

She's not going to be seeing Matt this morning. The meetings have been scheduled throughout the day, working through the under eighteen contestants according to their allocated mentor for efficiency's sake, Jenna is guessing. She is the first to be put through the meetings, then once the Who's Companion production team have met with both Harry's and Sapphira's parents, she will be free to go home, Billie will arrive and the whole process will begin again with her under eighteen contestants (Jenna can't remember how many of Billie's, or David's or Matt's, for that matter, are adults and how many are not. She blames her being constantly far too tired nowadays to be paying an awful lot of attention to what goes on around her at work), then Matt, then David. It's the production team who have the worst deal, having to repeat the same process over and over again all day.

Jenna would never admit to it, of course, but she's rather disappointed that the BBC's scheduling of these meetings means that she won't be seeing Matt at all today, not even a brief encounter whilst he's on the way in and she's on the way out.

She misses him. It's been less than two days since she last saw him, but still she misses him.

She misses him far more than she misses Oscar, her boyfriend, and Jenna knows it, doesn't even try to deny it to herself. She's said this all along, after all: if she's perfectly honest, she knows she's only really settled for Oscar because she knows no one else in their right mind would have her, and he may not be her type as such but he's perfectly lovely and she doesn't mind him, not at all. But still she values her friendship with Matt far higher than she does her new-found relationship with Oscar.

It's early days, Jenna supposes; maybe that will change.

Then again, she doubts it. No one will ever be able to make her feel as safe as Matt does.

It scares her: the thought that he isn't going to be around for her forever. She almost lost him a few months ago, of course; it was only due to Steven's really rather miraculous powers of persuasion on the way back from Comic Con that Matt had decided to stay on in his Doctor Who role for another year, to review his contact after Christmas and decide whether he would stay another year after that then. But it's only a short-term solution, Jenna knows that. She knows that he won't stay on Doctor Who forever, that sooner or later he'll decide it's time to move on and that will be the end of them working together. She won't be spending so much time on set with him, and whether she gets to see him outside of work at all will depend entirely on what he decides to do next.

Jenna knows Matt is thinking about going to the US, moving to Los Angeles and doing some film work out there, maybe some television, too. She would never tell him, but that might just be her worst nightmare. She wouldn't get to see him at all if he moved to America; he would be on the other side of the world, more or less, and he's got so many friends and family members that even during the brief time off he had to come back home to visit he would be far too busy spending time with all of them to bother with her.

The days she has left to spend with Matt are numbered, and Jenna knows it. Who knows how many she has left before he disappears from her life.

Perhaps it's best not to allow herself to think about that.

She's shown straight through into the conference room when she arrives, Steven and the production team already present. She doesn't have to do much, Steven assures her; she's more there for the sake of being there, present to nod at the right moments and reassure the parents involved that she'll be sure to look after their child during rehearsals. She can let the production team do the talking, both of them can, really. This whole thing is the production team's problem, not theirs.

Harry's parents are the first in; they're lovely, Jenna concludes, they're not half as terrifying as she had been afraid they might be. Very enthusiastic and yet reassuringly relaxed about the whole thing, just wanting Harry to enjoy himself. They remind her an awful lot of her parents when she was a child, Jenna decides. She can't recall her own parents ever pushing her at that age, not even when taking her to auditions. She was never under any pressure to get a part, to succeed; her mum and dad had only ever wanted her to enjoy herself; if she got the part she was auditioning for, then brilliant, and if not then she was never made to feel as though she had let them down. It's only now, being put through this experience, that she fully appreciates how much easier their approach makes matters for everyone involved.

The meeting with Harry's parents is over within forty minutes, and before too long they are ushered out and someone comes in with a tray of cups of tea. The casting team are still filling in paperwork with Sapphira's mother, they're told; they had time for a short break.

Jenna pushes her copy of Harry's consent form to one side and picks up what she has of Sapphira's, studying it closely. Sapphira Biljana Doroteja Shqipe Hoxha (so many names; how can someone so small have so many names?), born 30th November 2005, mother listed as Mirjam Hoxha, no father mentioned, EU citizen. Polish, maybe, Jenna ponders, does 'Hoxha' sound like a Polish surname? Not really. She's not sure; possible, she supposes. Maybe. Or German perhaps; does 'Sapphira' sound a bit German? German version of 'Sapphire'? It would explain the 'x' in 'Hoxha' that's pronounced as a 'j'; a lot of letters are pronounced differently in the German alphabet, aren't they? Jenna isn't quite sure, she only did French and Spanish at school. She's detected the slight accent to Sapphira's voice that disappears when she's acting, as though she's conscious of the need to lose it if she wants to get the part, but Jenna is yet to narrow it down to anything specific. She's rather good at accents, or so she likes to think, but she hasn't yet been able to put her finger on Sapphira's. Something European, Jenna presumes. If it doesn't become apparent in the next forty minutes or so, she'll have to ask Sapphira next week when live show rehearsals start.

It's another ten minutes before there's any sign of action. Ten minutes more or less of silence before the door swings open again and a man and woman enter the room, in their thirties, Jenna guesses, mid-thirties, maybe? The woman is small, slim, her facial features striking, distinctly foreign, elegant, ballerina-esque, effortlessly beautiful. She's quite evidently Sapphira's mother, every inch an older version of her daughter. Sapphira's long, dark curls, Sapphira's wide brown eyes, Sapphira's high cheekbones, Sapphira's olive skin, Sapphira's poise. Jenna scans her, scrutinising, still on high alert. She looks perfectly normal; well presented, nothing out of place.

"Hi." Her voice is heavily accented as she reaches out her hand to Graeme, head of the production team. "Mirjam," she introduces herself. "Sapphi's mother."

"Hi," Jenna does her best to smile warmly, extending out her hand. "I'm Jenna."

"Jenna," Mirjam repeats, returning the smile, before frowning a little. "Sapphi, she..." she gives up and turns to the man behind her whom Jenna had momentarily forgotten about until now, the tall, muscular man in the background, watching intently. She switches to something foreign, Russian-sounding, though still her voice doesn't quite sound natural, comfortable.

"She says Sapphi has told her a lot about you," the man translates, turning to Jenna, his own voice accented, though not so heavily as Mirjam's. His accent is softer, still there, but softer. "I'm Apostol," he greets her, shaking Jenna's hand in a firm grip. "I'm a friend of Mirjam's, I'm here to translate."

"Translate?" Jenna asks. "Why translate?"

"Because Mirjam doesn't speak enough English for situations like this," Apostol explains, taking a seat beside Sapphira's mother. "So I come to translate."

Due to having to relay everything through Apostol and back again, the meeting with Sapphira's mother takes far longer than it did with Harry's parents. Not that Jenna's complaining; she's too busy watching Mirjam intently (while doing her best to disguise the fact that she's watching her intently), trying to make sense of those snippets of information she's obtained from Sapphira. Jenna is almost certain there's something not quite right about Mirjam, though by now she's starting to wonder if she really is seeing things that aren't there. To her, Mirjam doesn't seem quite engaged. It just... somehow it doesn't seem as though she's particularly interested, it seems as though she's attending this meeting because she knows if she doesn't her child won't be allowed to compete in the Who's Companion live shows, something she's clearly desperate to do. Yet somehow Mirjam doesn't seem particularly interested in proceedings, bored, as though willing it to be over. Maybe it's just the language barrier, Jenna considers. Perhaps it's a combination of cultural differences and the language barrier making it seem as though Mirjam Hoxha simply isn't that bothered as to her daughter's welfare during the live show weeks.

Or maybe she just needs to stop being so damn judgemental.

Mirjam doesn't ask much in the way of questions, not even through Apostol. She mostly keeps quiet, nodding idly each time Apostol begins to translate to her, as though she has somewhere better to be.

She's not interested, Jenna's sure of it. It's not her imagination. Mirjam Hoxha simply isn't interested.

Jenna takes it upon herself to concentrate intently, as though her taking in all of the information the production team are talking them through will somehow compensate for Mirjam's apparent boredom with it all. In a way it does, she supposes; if Mirjam isn't interested, somebody needs to be. It's just that she's probably not the most useful person to be stepping in, all things considered, she sighs to herself wearily.

Rehearsals are going to be in the afternoons for the younger constants, outside of school hours to begin with, though towards the end of the competition it might be necessary for them to miss a couple of afternoons of school a week for rehearsals. Sapphira- Sapphi? Is she Sapphi, rather than Sapphira?- will be doing most of her acting scenes with Jenna, will have her dance choreography done for her by Jenna's old dance teacher, Grace Harper. As arranged yesterday afternoon after Jenna finally mustered the courage to call her, Grace will come down from Blackpool on Tuesdays to choreograph, and they're in the process of arranging for Sapphira to attend a couple of ballet and rhythmic gymnastics classes during the week for technique purposes, as Grace will be rather pushed for time given she'll be choreographing for Sapphira in a day. Then for the live shows, Graeme explains, Mirjam has the option of going backstage with her daughter before her performances in order to prepare her for going onstage.

Apostol barely gets halfway through that particular translation before Mirjam shakes her head firmly, waving her hands, her objection perfectly clear. Jenna strains, concentrating as hard as she possibly can, trying to pick out odd words, get a general idea of what's being said.

She doesn't trust Apostol. She's not convinced he's not presenting the rest of the room with a censored, toned down version of Mirjam's actual words.

Maybe, Jenna considers, just maybe, she's allowing her paranoid worry to go a little too far.

"That... that won't be necessary," Apostol says carefully; Jenna tries to convince herself Apostol's awkward pauses are merely down to language difficulties. "Sapphi will be fine... Mirjam works many Saturday nights so she cannot always be there with her. She will be fine," Apostol insists. "She's very independent."

Jenna resists the urge to glare at the pair of them across the room at that particular comment. Independent, she muses, that's one way of describing Sapphira's being told to wait by herself for an hour after her audition until someone (and her fifteen year old sister, at that) eventually decides to come and get her. 'Independent'; that's definitely not the word she would have chosen.

"What did you think of her?" Steven murmurs, leaning across to whisper to Jenna as Mirjam and Apostol are shown out, just disappeared out into the corridor. "The mother?"

Jenna can tell just by his tone that she's not the only one who was a little unnerved by Mirjam's detachment.

"I... I don't know," she says carefully, conscious that she doesn't want to come across too critical, too negative. Apart from anything, the last thing Jenna wants to do is reveal to Steven that she's most likely even more judgemental of Mirjam than he is, let slip the previous incidents which have concerned her.

She doesn't want to say anything that might result in the production team deciding that working with Sapphira's mother is going to be too temperamental and they would be better off going with someone else instead. If there is something more serious going on than Mirjam simply not being particularly interested in her daughter's taking part in this whole Who's Companion palaver, Jenna is never going to find out what it is if Sapphira is turned away now.

"... I don't know, she... she came across a little detached, I thought," Jenna says, watching Steven's face closely for a reaction.

Steven raises his eyebrows. "A little?" he asks.

"OK, more than a little," Jenna admits. "It must be hard for her, though, not having enough English to communicate by herself. She probably doesn't mean to come across that way, maybe it's just a cultural thing."

"Maybe," Steven frowns. "Where's the mother from, do you know?"

Jenna shrugs. "Somewhere in Europe, I'm guessing, other than that no idea. It sounded like Russian, maybe? Russian or something else eastern European." She frowns. "Why?"

"Potential plot device, if Sapphira speaks it. Plus, just interested. I suppose disinterested parents are better than overbearing, pushy parents, in a lot of ways," Steven ponders. "As long as she brings her daughter along on time, we can't really complain."

Jenna decides it's probably not the ideal time to mention the fact that so far, Mirjam has relied on her fifteen year old daughter and her presumably ex-partner to get Sapphira anywhere on time.

Matt calls her that night. He does Jenna a massive favour, in fact, calling when he does; her phone rings just as she's about to sit down for dinner with her flatmates. She mouths her apologies to Gemma and Becky and Kate as she picks up the phone, aware that she's unlikely to be around for dinner most evenings once the Who's Companion live shows start. She wants to make the most of the time she has left of freedom in the evenings, ideally.

It's funny; for a few weeks after she moved back in with them Jenna felt rather distanced from her flatmates, as though no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't quite slot back in as effortlessly as she usually did. She's been in and out a lot with work the whole time she's been sharing a flat with Gemma and Becky and Kate, of course, but it's never been an issue before; on all the previous occasions it had maybe taken her a couple of days to settle back in, but after that it had always been as though she had never left.

This time, though, it's been harder. Perhaps it's because she came back to them without her boyfriend and went in for what Gemma and Becky and Kate thought was a myomectomy just over a week later. Perhaps they picked up on something back then; perhaps they suspected she wasn't being entirely honest with them, lost a little trust in her then and there? Jenna doesn't know. All she knows is that this time, it didn't feel at first as though she'd managed to slot in effortlessly at all.

Over the past few days, however, things have been better. Jenna feels as though things aren't as awkward as they were any longer, as though she's been accepted back, for lack of a better way of putting it. Not that her flatmates were consciously pushing her out to begin with, of course... it's difficult to explain. But it's going a lot better, that's the point. Jenna feels far more relaxed at home than she did a couple of weeks ago. It's just typical, she sighs, that it's come right before she's about to embark on a new work project, out of the flat until late at night, most likely.

"Hi Matt," Jenna says, answering the phone. She's about to ask him if it's alright for her to call him back later, but then she glances across at her flatmates, already sat at the table, smiling and nodding their heads in her direction, assuring her that it's OK, that they don't mind. They like Matt; they rarely seem to mind when it's him.

"Hi Jen," Matt greets her. "I was just... umm... I was just phoning to see how it went earlier. You know, with Sapphira's mum."

Her heart melts a little at that. She hadn't thought he would remember; Jenna had thought their conversation at Matt's flat on Wednesday night might have been long forgotten. He cares, she realises, he does care. He cares enough to have remembered.

"I don't know, Matt," Jenna sighs, flopping back onto her bed. "I honestly don't know what to think anymore."

"That bad?" Matt sighs sympathetically.

"I don't know, I don't know if I'm just imagining things now," Jenna admits, groaning. "The mother, she just... I don't know... she just doesn't seem interested, somehow. She seemed so... so bored, like she had somewhere better to be and couldn't care less, I don't know if it was the language barrier..."

"Language barrier?"

"The mother doesn't speak much in the way of English, she brought a friend along to translate," Jenna explains. "I don't know if it was that making her come across a little disinterested combined with me already being worried... I don't know... I don't know," she sighs, leaning back against the wall. "I honestly don't know."

"But you don't think she's..." Matt trails off. "Doesn't matter. Forget I said anything."

"No, go on."

"I don't want to worry you, it's probably nothing."

"Now I am worried," Jenna protests. "Go on, say it."

"You don't think she's abusive?"

"What? God, no!" Jenna exclaims, a little horrified. "Of course not, what on earth makes you think...?" and then she stops, panic brewing inside her. "What makes you think that?" she asks, a little more rationally this time.

"I don't know... just came into my head as a possibility, I guess. You're right, though, I'm probably overreacting," Matt admits. "There's a huge difference between being not particularly interested in your child and being abusive. Maybe the mother isn't the most engaged, that doesn't mean she's a bad parent."

"Doesn't it?" Jenna asks doubtfully.

"Of course it doesn't," Matt insists, though he fails to sound quite convincing enough to offer Jenna some reassurance. "Look, we'll keep an eye on it, OK? There's nothing you can do about it based on this, Jenna; it's all just suspicions, isn't it, inferences. You can't do anything based on inferences. You've got who knows how many weeks to keep an eye on it, and then if it looks like there really is something sinister going on we can do something about it. But I've said this before, Jen, you can't waste time and energy worrying about something like this when you don't even know there's reason to."

"Thanks, Matt," Jenna whispers softly, pulling her knees up to her chest. "I know you're right, I just, I'm sorry... I don't know..."

"You care," Matt finishes for her gently. "You care, that's all. Never apologise for that."

* * *

**Hope it was OK- as I said I have the next 4 chapters written so I should be able to update fairly soon, provided you leave me lots of nice reviews :D I do sometimes send sneak previews to extra lovely reviewers/Pmers, it's worth it. Thank you again all you wonderful people for your support, I honestly couldn't do this without you xx**

**PS. who's worked out Sapphira's role in all this then? ;)**


	25. Chapter 25

**Even more than ever, I just want to say a huge, huge thank you to all my wonderful reviewers, seriously, you've kept me going this weekend more than you know. Vivaciousreader, finchel4everbelieveinthetether, zoz, onlythesassiest, proellusionist, guest, I am Clara Oswald, LilliasCraven, SavetheDaleks, What a day we had, The Twenty Third of November, DoctorWhoFanWarrior11, guest, planetofthedeaf, runyoucleverboy-remember, copiesofclara and MemorialFantasy, you have literally kept me going through absolute hell this week and I honestly don't know what I would do without you. Special thanks to librarykate. Please keep reviewing, there's nothing that makes me smile more than your wonderful reviews at the moment. I'm told uni will get better, let's hope so!**

**Emeline x**

**Chapter 25**

The weekend is over far too soon, and rehearsals begin that following Monday. They are... an experience.

An experience, Jenna ponders. That's one way of putting it.

This must be, she supposes, what it's like to do theatre. She doesn't know; she hasn't had a lot of theatre experience, only two professional theatre roles in her adult life and they were both years ago, fairly major parts but in small, low-key productions.

This is on a different scale to anything she's ever done before, plus there are the added complications of the live audience, the live broadcasting cameras, the fact that this whole thing is going to be shown on BBC1 and in the US on BBC America, and the minor issue of it being a competition and the public voting for their favourite contestants.

No pressure, then. No pressure at all.

In all fairness, Jenna knows, she has it easy in comparison to the contestants. All she has to do is turn up and sit at a table directly opposite the stage area, smile reassuringly at her mentees whilst they're on stage (and Matt, Billie and David's mentees, come to that), get on stage with them in full Clara attire and get into character for the acting part of their performance and hold their hand later on in the evening for the results. 9.30pm, the results show is scheduled to start- how on earth Sapphira is going to stay awake for that long on top of the exhausting nature of the whole extravaganza coupled with an acting performance and a three minute or so dance performance, Jenna really does not know. Harry, one of her other contestants, is the second youngest taking part in the live shows at eleven, four years Sapphira's senior. Is half past nine in the evening late for an eleven year old? Jenna isn't sure.

What she is sure of, however, is that her scheduled event for eight in the morning on Monday is quite possibly her new worst nightmare.

Costume fitting.

This is bad, Jenna knows it is really, albeit rather deep down in the murky depths of her conscience. To be this afraid of costume fitting, for it to fill her with a considerable amount of inexplicable terror, for the mere thought of it to make her feel as nauseous as it does, isn't good. It's not good for anyone, but especially not for someone with a job like hers, someone who has to spend a considerable amount of time in and out of costume departments whilst she's working.

She knows it's not good to be so stressed at the mere thought of costume fitting, and yet that isn't enough to snap Jenna out of it. She scared, she realises; she's scared of it, she's scared of being put through costume fitting, scared of being forced to stand in front of the head of the costume department and try on a variety of different outfits for her Clara costume, be fitted for a dress for Saturday night. She's scared of seeing her reflection in the mirror, terrified that she's going to look hideous in whatever the costume designer puts her in, not sure whether it would be worse for them to tell her honestly she looks like a fat, ugly pig and they despair, or for them to gloss over it all, put on an act and pretend they think she looks fine.

Either way, Jenna decides, there is absolutely no way she is allowing herself to eat breakfast on Monday morning, possibly not even dinner the night before. She doesn't want to make the situation any worse than it already is.

Consequently, she arrives at work at 7.50am on the dot on Monday morning, physically exhausted, desperately hungry. It's strange; that feeling of hunger doesn't seem to have an awful lot of an impact on her, Jenna realises, not anymore. She knows she's hungry, she's not completely blind to the sensation, but somehow it doesn't have an awful lot of an effect on her anymore, somehow it fills her with a great sense of achievement. It's like a game, a sick, twisted game she can play with herself to keep the loneliness at bay: how long can she last before she has to surrender and allow herself to eat?

She knows it isn't a good idea, of course; she's not completely lacking in common sense.

It's just that Jenna hasn't been allowing herself to listen to the voice of reason recently.

She's too busy punishing herself for that.

By 9am, Jenna has concluded with absolute certainty that the new costume designer, Hollie, is one of her least favourite people on the entire planet. It's her whole attitude; she seems so patronising, not to mention the fact that she only looks about sixteen. Sixteen and about six foot tall in her scarily high heels; she towers over Jenna without even trying. Spending half an hour in a fitting room in her underwear having her dress pinned with someone who lies to her point-blank and tells her she looks beautiful, says incredibly patronisingly that she's a 'tiny little thing' (firstly, Jenna thinks to herself angrily, 5''2 is absolutely not tiny, secondly that has to be the biggest lie she's heard all year, and thirdly, she's twenty seven, not five).

"You're too tense," Hollie tells Jenna as she pins the dress she's decided on for her in around her waist. "Relax, I'm not going to prick you."

Jenna could almost laugh at her stupidity. How she wishes she really were only tensing up at having Hollie pin her dress because she's slow to trust new costume designers and she's worried she's going to be pricked if she's not careful, if she doesn't hold herself absolutely still.

If only everything was that simple.

She's only too glad to escape from the costume department, even if it means having to head off to rehearsals. It's the read through this morning; her, Matt, Billie, David, the adults contestants, Steven and several members of the production team in one room together, reading through their scenes for the Saturday night live show. That's all she has to do this morning, Jenna realises as she consults her timetable; this will take a couple of hours, maybe three, but after that she's free to disappear for a couple of hours for lunch, and then this afternoon the under eighteen contestants will be called in and their read through will begin.

Jenna decides she feels rather sorry for the under eighteen contestants. Those of them who are local enough to do so are going to school as normal during the day and rehearsing in the afternoons, while those who aren't are being tutored during the day and joining the others for afternoon rehearsals. It's a long day for anyone, especially a child. Jenna is rather convinced that it's not going to be the contestant with the most talent who wins, ultimately, it's going to be the one with the most stamina.

She survives the read through sessions. She doesn't feel quite herself during either of them, she feels distant; as though she's not really in the conference room at all, watching through a pane of glass instead, merely an observer. Although she's perfectly aware of the voices surrounding her, can pick out the words quite clearly, somehow they sound muffled, distorted, as though she's not quite there. It's a strange sensation; it causes Jenna to feel rather detached, isolated, as if the rest of the world is continuing on life as normal without her and somehow she's become stuck in some sort of dead space, her life on hold.

Then again, her life is on hold in a way, Jenna realises grimly. Her obsession with her appearance- her weight, specifically- has reached the point at which weight loss has become her number one priority. She can never be happy, she can't get on with her life, she can't relax, until she's reached a weight at which she no longer resembles a fat, ugly pig, and the unsettling truth of it all is that Jenna isn't even completely certain that such a number exists.

_Pig... fat... pig..._

Why is it that some words will never leave you?

Somehow, and how exactly Jenna doesn't quite know, she manages to survive Monday. She's so out of it all day that it's only when she's lying awake in bed that night, unable to relax enough for sleep to claim her, that Jenna realises she was in such a trance this evening that she didn't even pay an awful lot of attention to Sapphira; didn't watch her like she had promised herself she would, doesn't observe her carefully, looking for signs of something being not quite right.

How could she be so stupid?

Tomorrow, Jenna tries to reassure herself. She can redeem herself tomorrow. Tomorrow is rehearsals for the talent/performance/singing/dancing/whatever it's called section of the Saturday night live show, the day her old dance teacher Grace Harper is coming down from Blackpool to choreograph for Sapphira.

If Jenna is completely honest with herself, she's rather nervous about tomorrow for that very reason. It's been nine and a half years, she calculated after speaking to Grace on the phone last Wednesday afternoon, nine and a half years, almost ten, since she last saw Grace Harper and her sister Rachel. Nine and a half years since she last set foot in a dance studio, nine and a half years since she was seventeen years old and as far as Jenna was concerned, there was nothing in life that wasn't fixable.

Jenna would do almost anything to go back to that state of blissful ignorance now.

Did she know? Jenna tries to remember that night, shivering, burrowing under her duvet in an attempt to warm herself up. Did she know, the last time she walked into a lesson at Tower Dance Studio (pointe, she remembers that quite clearly, it was a Thursday evening and it was a pointe class) that she would never be going back? She's not sure; an awful lot of that period of her life is something of a blur now.

Did she know walking out of the class that she would never be going back? Yes, Jenna decides, she probably did. At the time it had been the only clear solution in her mind; to run away, to keep on running and hope and pray that all her troubles would somehow miraculously disappear.

It hadn't worked, of course. If anything, it had only made her feel a hundred times worse.

Jenna still feels guilty about it, even now, almost ten years on. Maybe it's _because_ it's been almost ten years that she still feels so guilty about it, Jenna contemplates; is that a reasonable explanation? It does make sense.

She should never have left it like that; Jenna realises that now, and the more she thinks about it, the more convinced she is that she realised it at the time, too. Grace and Rachel were her teachers for almost fifteen years, they had known her since she was three years old, helped her discover something which made her inexplicably happy like nothing else quite could, She had owed them more than a bunch of flowers left secretively on the doorstep of Tower Dance Studios.

She had owed them a goodbye, at least, a proper explanation. But she couldn't possibly have given them that. To do so would have involved admitting to the real reason she was unable to come back ever again, and that had been the one thing Jenna simply hadn't been prepared to do.

She had trusted Grace and Rachel immensely, thought of them at times more as family than as her dance teachers. Over the years she had felt able to discuss most things with them.

But not that. Not the reason she couldn't come back.

Jenna hadn't been convinced Grace would want anything to do with her after all these years. She wouldn't have blamed her old teacher in the slightest had she said she was too busy when asked if she would be interested in taking part in the Who's Companion live shows, if she wanted to choreograph for Sapphira. She wasn't the one who owed anything, after all; that was Jenna, if either of them owed the other anything, it was Jenna for disappearing so abruptly without a proper explanation.

But Grace had been wonderfully enthusiastic. It was lovely to hear from her, she had said; it was lovely to hear from Jenna after so long. There had been no resentment in her voice, no bitterness, only happiness and excitement. She had agreed before even seeing a video clip of Sapphira's dancing, telling Jenna that if she thought Sapphira was good enough, that was enough for her.

Jenna wonders if that comment was meant to make her feel quite as nervous as it does.

Is it terrible to admit that she's slightly disappointed she has to split her Tuesday evening as close to evenly as she can manage between Harry and Sapphira, look in on each of their rehearsals? She doesn't have to do a lot at all, the producers assure her, this isn't her responsibility, but if she could stick her head around the door at the beginning, and again on her way home, that would be great. And to make sure she spends fairly equal amounts of time with each of her contestants. How much time that is, however, is down to her.

If she had her way, Jenna would quite happily spend the whole two hours of Sapphira's choreography session with Grace sat in the corner of the dance studio, watching, reminiscing. Sadly, that isn't an option. Apart from anything, she knows for a fact that David, Billie and Matt are planning a quick getaway tonight; she's going to look as though she has little in the way of a life outside of work if she stays until half past six.

Then again, Jenna ponders, it's widely known that Grace is her old dance teacher, that the two of them have known each other for years. Maybe it wouldn't look so suspicious to stay until the end after all.

She arrives at the BBC studios early on Tuesday, wanting a chance to talk with Grace properly, before Sapphira and her mother (presumably, surely someone is going to accompany her?) arrive for Sapphira's choreography session. She's nervous; horribly nervous, in fact. Excited to see Grace again after so long, hopeful that they might be able to salvage something of their old closeness, but still horribly nervous; she feels a little on edge as she heads up to the dance studio.

The truth of it is, Jenna realises with a sinking feeling in her heart, she's embarrassed. She's horribly, horrifically embarrassed to be meeting Grace again after so long looking as vile and fat as she knows she does now. Her feeling ashamed when she catches sight of her reflection in the mirror is beginning to reach a new level; those mocking voices in her head have found a fresh, new method with which to torture her.

It's not only about how repulsed she is by her own appearance anymore. It's also about how she fears those around her perceive her. Jenna knows full well that Grace is going to think she looks fat and disgusting- how could she not when it's so horribly obvious just from looking at her?

She doesn't want to be judged, she doesn't want people to think she's fat and ugly, especially those she wants to please. But at the same time she doesn't blame the world for taking one look at her and immediately noticing how fat she is; she's completely and utterly convinced by now that it's not exactly hard to miss.

But knowing it doesn't make her any less embarrassed, any less ashamed.

And so it's slowly, anxiously, that Jenna makes her way up to the dance studio, an apprehensive feeling in the pit of her stomach. Is it natural to be this nervous about seeing a former close friend again after so many years? She isn't sure; she's typically rather good at keeping in touch with the people she cares about. Grace and Rachel Harper are the exception to that rule.

She needn't have worried, Jenna realises rather quickly. She's barely pushed open the door before she's pulled into a tight embrace.

"Jenna..." Grace's voice is still so familiar after so long, still sounds exactly as she remembers it. It was distorted on the phone, not quite right, but now Grace sounds so like the teacher Jenna remembers that a part of her almost feels like a child again, transported back to a place in which life was far more straightforward, in which she was so wonderfully optimistic about everything, in which nothing felt like the end of the world like it does now, not for long, at least. "Oh my goodness, it's been so long." Grace pulls away at last, looking her former pupil up and down, and it takes all of Jenna's self-control and acting ability to stop herself from cringing, recoiling into herself. She's ashamed; there's no other word for it. She's ashamed, ashamed to allow Grace to see her looking so huge and ugly and repulsive. She's almost certain that all of Grace's successful pupils have blossomed into beautiful, talented, elegant _thin_ swans.

"It's been far too long, it's so lovely to see you again," Grace continues, pausing for a moment. "Nine and a half years, isn't it? Nearly ten?"

She does a good job of covering it, but somehow Jenna suspects Grace knows exactly how long it's been since the two of them last saw one another. The both of them do. It's rather awkward, meeting again after the way she disappeared all those years ago; Jenna finds herself wondering whether this was such a good idea after all.

"I think so," Jenna nods, playing along. It's now her turn to pause, wondering whether or not to say anything about her disappearance, to attempt to apologise. "Grace, I'm so sorry about..." she begins truthfully, heartfelt, but Grace cuts her off before she can progress any further.

"Oh Jenna, don't apologise, it doesn't matter," Grace insists. "Honestly, don't. It's all forgotten; even at the time when I spoke to your mum, I understood. It's OK," she smiles. "I'm just glad we've managed to get back in touch with one another again after all this time. I'm so proud of you, you know."

"What?" Jenna asks, laughing a little, blushing, slightly nervous.

"Of course I am, I'm proud of all my pupils," Grace tells her, smiling, almost a little bemused that Jenna could seem so surprised at her previous statement. "I always knew you'd be brilliant, I remember telling your mum. It's wonderful to see you doing so well, it really is."

"It's very kind of you to say so," Jenna smiles, almost shyly. It's a strange, rather nerve-wracking experience, seeing someone again after going so long without any contact. Or maybe it's just nerve-wracking because she feels so god damn awful about herself at the moment. "So what are you planning on doing with Sapphira?" she asks, a little desperate to change the subject. Jenna doesn't want to spend any longer discussing how well she's done career-wise, not when she can no longer understand why on earth anyone would want to give her a part in anything in the first place, let alone keep her on. It must be out of pity, she decides, Steven and the rest of the Doctor Who production team must only keep her on because they feel sorry for her, because they know she'll never get another job and they feel it's the least they can do.

Maybe she should stop allowing herself to think about this, before it upsets her too much and holding herself together becomes an absolute nightmare.

"I've got a plan, but I'll have to adapt it a little as I go along, given I haven't taught her before. Sapphira hasn't had any proper dance training before, I think you said?"

Jenna shakes her head. "She's got an older sister who's a rhythmic gymnast- she trialled for GB juniors this year but just lost out- the sister's done a lot of equipment-free rhythmic gymnastics with her, but no formal training, no."

Grace nods. "I'll treat this week as a bit of a trial period then, see what she can do. Her leaps are lovely in those clips you sent over, there's plenty I can do with her. The issue really is lack of time to perfect the choreography, lucky I've got you, really."

Jenna looks up, a little taken aback. "What?"

"Well, you remember how long it takes to perfect choreography, don't you? You said Sapphira's a fast learner; I can get her through the choreography in two hours but we're only going to have time to learn it, not perfect it. You can do that with her though, can't you, in the practise slots the rest of this week? I know it's been a while since you danced, but you must remember enough that you can run her through the choreography, clean it up a bit. You can do that, can't you?"

Jenna is torn between allowing her complete and utter lack of self-confidence to get the better of her once again and say that she can't do it, she's not good enough, and agreeing despite her concerns as to her ability because she so badly wants to please Grace.

"Of course," she says enthusiastically, doing her best too smile. "Absolutely."

"Thanks, Jenna. I cleared it with the producers when I arrived, they're fine with you watching Sapphira tonight for the most part, so you're familiar with the choreography. I think you're going down to collect her from reception in a few minutes, right?" Grace rummages in her bag and pulls out her iPod, plugging it in to the speaker system in the corner of the room. "Lyrical, I thought, for the first week. Have you ever heard Celia Chavez's cover of Moon River?"

Harry and Sapphira are already waiting in reception when Jenna arrives to collect them and take them to their rehearsals; Harry still in school uniform, Sapphira in a black leotard and white footless tights, hair pulled back neatly into a ponytail. Harry's parents are stood with them, behind their son, but there's no sign of Sapphira's mother, Jenna notes. This is what she doesn't understand, Jenna sighs to herself. It's as though Mirjam Hoxha tries hard enough to give off the impression of having everything under control, and yet can't quite be bothered to go the whole way and actually invest any time in her child.

Maybe she's being a little too harsh, Jenna concludes; after all, it's perfectly possible Mirjam Hoxha is still at work, or that she needed to rush off the moment she had dropped Sapphira at the studios. Maybe she needs to stop being so judgemental and keep her nose firmly out of other people's business.

"Hi," Jenna greets them, telling herself firmly that being nervous because she has to make small talk with a child and show them to their rehearsal room is absolutely ridiculous. It's Harry who's making her nervous, of course; Sapphira doesn't make her nervous. If anything, she has the opposite effect. But somehow Harry makes her nervous, all of the other contestants do. Somehow Jenna feels as though she's not qualified enough for this role, that sooner or later one of them is going to see through her and realise she doesn't really know what she's doing at all when it comes to acting, that she's just making it all up as she goes along and hoping for the best. Plus Harry is making her doubly nervous today because his parents are here with him, Jenna realises, and she feels even less qualified to be responsible for someone else's child than she does giving them tips on acting.

Again, Sapphira is the exception to that rule. Possibly because Jenna (arrogantly, perhaps) feels she's doing the poor child something of a favour in giving her some attention, possibly because Sapphira's ability so far during the brief time they have known one another to make her smile even when Jenna feels as though she might never be truly happy again, is capable of cancelling out her nervousness at getting it all wrong and being viewed as a fraud and a failure and far from responsible enough to be babysitting someone else's child. What is it exactly that makes a person qualified enough to look after someone else's child for an extended period of time, in a more full-on capacity than could ever be expected of a teenage, badly paid babysitter, Jenna wonders. Is it having children of your own? If it is, she's going to have to give up on ever being considered completely competent right now this very moment and get over it.

She might be only too painfully aware of it, but at the same time Jenna knows full well that she hasn't even begun to accept the fact that she's never going to be able to have children, not yet. There's no point even thinking about it at this stage, she tells herself, not until she's in a serious relationship, at least (she doesn't consider her relationship with Oscar serious in the slightest, is that terrible of her?).

Can she even allow herself to enter into a serious relationship? Jenna isn't convinced she can, not now. Every potential boyfriend things start to get serious with is going to have to be told that she can never have children, because it's not fair, Jenna realises, it's not fair to string them along and allow things to get serious and then drop the bombshell. She has to accept that this whole uterine cancer thing has rendered her damaged goods, that even though she's alright, that she's free of the tumour, she's never going to be free of its legacy. No one is ever going to want to be with her now she can't have children; any man she ever wants to be with will dump her and find someone else when they realise that to stay with her means signing themselves up for a lifetime of just the two of them, no family of their own, she's sure of it.

Even if she does manage to lose enough weight that she's no longer fat and ugly and truly vile to look at, still no one is ever going to want to be with her.

Maybe she should start taking Oscar a little more seriously, after all. That, and hope and pray that he doesn't want children.

"Are you alright?" Sapphira asks worriedly after Jenna escorts Harry into room 23 and introduces him to the singing teacher, takes her hand and begins to lead her back along the corridor towards the dance studio. It's almost a little unnerving, Jenna realises with something in the way of alarm; Sapphira's ability to read her emotions is a little unnerving. Just when she thinks she's doing a fairly convincing job of concealing the waves of panic and self-loathing forever flowing through her, Sapphira somehow manages to see right through her.

Which is brilliant, Jenna sighs to herself, just brilliant. Acting was the one thing she thought she might just be a little bit good at, and now she can't even pull off that.

"Course," Jenna says quickly, smiling brightly, possibly a little too forced. "I'm fine, what makes you ask that?"

Bad, bad move, Jenna realises, a little too late. Giving someone concerned about her the opportunity to rationalise their concerns about her is a bad, bad idea.

Especially when the someone in question is seven. Children of that age say what's on their minds; they have no concept of self-censoring.

"You look sad," Sapphira says simply, tilting her head, her large brown eyes empathetically emotional. "Are you?"

"What? No, of course not," Jenna insists, laughing softly in what she hopes is a convincingly surprised tone. "So you haven't met Grace yet, have you?" she asks quickly, rather anxious to change the subject. "Grace is lovely; she's going to be choreographing for you."

"Your teacher?"

"Yep, when I was your age. She's come all the way down from Blackpool just to work with you."

"Why?"

"Because she thinks you dance beautifully, and you could be even better with some proper training."

Sapphira pauses. "Where's Blackpool?"

"Umm..." Jenna frowns. She's struggling to work out how to explain geographical locations in terms a seven year old might understand. Is seven old enough to have a decent grasp of where major cities are situated across the country? Probably not. "In the north west," she decides, watching Sapphira's face closely for signs of confusion. "Near Leeds, do you know where Leeds is?"

"Up north?"

Jenna laughs. "Good guess. Not far away from the border with Scotland."

"Oh, OK." Jenna isn't sure whether Sapphira is just pretending to know where she's talking about or not. "Are you from Blackpool?"

"Umm hmm."

"I'm from Ljubljana. That's where I was born, anyway."

"From where?"

"Ljubljana."

"Where's that?"

"In Slovenia. Near Italy?" It's perfectly clear that Sapphira is used to being looked at rather blankly while on this topic of conversation.

"Oh, OK, next to Croatia?"

"Yep, Italy's here," Sapphira gestures with her hands. "And Croatia's here, Austria's here and Slovenia's here." It's either a well-rehearsed routine, or her European Geography is better than her British.

"Right, I'm with you. So you're Slovenian?"

"Not exactly, that's just where I was born."

She's skipped off through the doors into the dance studio before Jenna has the chance to ask her anything else.

It's rather therapeutic, watching Grace's choreography session. Even the boring bits are therapeutic, Jenna realises, sat cross-legged in the corner of the room, watching Grace reposition Sapphira's right foot on her coupé turn. How many hours did she spend with Grace in Studio D of Tower Dance Studios as a child, correction after correction, running the same twenty seconds or so of choreography over and over and over again until her feet ached and the combination was drilled firmly into her skull, until Grace and her sister Rachel were finally satisfied that she had it perfected? Hundreds, maybe even thousands.

Maybe it's a little ridiculous, but she misses it. She misses being shouted and screamed at over the music, misses having her feet forced back into position mid transition and struggling to keep her balance, misses being forced to repeat things multiple times over, put through a rigorous stretching regime afterwards. She misses it because it never felt like hard work, not really. A part of her almost wants to slot in behind Sapphira and join in, pretend she's seven years old again and life is simple, her biggest problem pulling off her turn sequence in order to please her teacher.

Almost.

Even if she wouldn't find it rather embarrassing, Jenna would never allow herself to give in to temptation. She's perfectly happy dancing alone in her bedroom; she has no desire to join in with Grace's choreography, not when she knows full well she would resemble a dancing elephant. Plus she deliberately covers the mirror now when she dances alone in her room; there's no escaping the walls of mirrors in a dance studio. She would be forced to view herself from every unflattering angle, every ounce of unwanted fat, every part of her body, all the more obvious... it makes her feel sick just thinking about it.

Absolutely not, no question about it, end of discussion. There is absolutely no way, Jenna decides, that she is dancing in front of anyone ever again.


	26. Chapter 26

**You're getting this a day earlier than planned because I've almost finished chapter 29, I'm planning on getting up early to do it tomorrow morning. Never say I don't spoil you :P There's a massive clue towards the end of this chapter as to what's really going on here, and for some of you it may confirm your suspicions, do let me know if you work it out, won't you :) Thanks to everyone for the support, uni is getting a bit better, I still wouldn't say I like it but I can see how I could like it, if that makes any sense. **

**Massive hugs to all my wonderful reviewers, CrazyBowtieGirl (x2, I'll PM you in the morning :)), what a day we had, runyoucleverboy-remember, I am Clara Oswald, Remembermewhen, proellusionist, Doctorwhofanwarrior11, Jesusisboss (not just yet I'm afraid, lots more angst to come yet ;)), finchel4everbelieveinthetether, librarykate, and memorialfantasy, you guys are seriously incredible and you've made this week so much better. I can't even tell you how lucky I feel to have your support.**

**Chapter 26**

It's absolute chaos backstage come Saturday night.

Is this what it's like doing a west end production? Jenna wonders. She wouldn't know; the biggest theatre production she's ever been in was a Christmas pantomime, and that wasn't exactly a sell-out. It's strange; she's still learning of course, nowhere near an expert when it comes to working in television, though she would like to think that by now she's gained a decent amount of experience. But nothing could possibly have quite prepared her for this.

It's crazy, the atmosphere backstage. Controlled crazy, Jenna is almost certain; she has enough faith in the backstage crew (most of them have been involved with Doctor Who filming at some point in the past) to trust that they have everything under control, even if they do a rather good impression of being completely behind schedule and panicking about it at times. But even so, it's crazy. It's ten past six, twenty minutes until they go live, and now there are people running all over the place; it reminds Jenna a little of Waterloo Station during rush hour. She feels rather lost in the midst of it all, not quite sure where she's officially meant to be.

At present, she's in the girls' dressing room with Sapphira, her sisters Sofia and Sienna (who, at three, is every bit as cute as Jenna imagines Sapphira must have been at that age) and Grace Harper, making sure she's ready to go onstage. It's the 'talent' performance first: Ross, Francesca, Harry, Sapphira... Jenna runs through the order in her mind. Then costume change, into character for the acting pieces and back onstage again, same order, Ross, Francesca, Harry, Sapphira. Surely it would make more sense to go from youngest to oldest given the live show starts at 6.30pm and finishes rather late for a child? That, Jenna decides, can be added to her and Matt's ever-growing list of all the oversights on the production team's part.

Given that this will be her first time performing in front of a live audience (and a rather massive one at that, plus the live broadcasting cameras), Sapphira is surprisingly calm. Jenna hasn't quite made her mind up as to whether that's a good thing or not; she knows full well that it's possible to be too calm for live performances. Calm is good, of course, but adrenaline is necessary, without nerves there's no adrenaline, and without adrenaline performances tend to lack a certain inexplicable spark. That said, too nervous is also a recipe for disaster; the last thing Jenna wants is for Sapphira to be perfectly calm and collected right up until the moment she steps onstage, then to suddenly freeze and forget what she's meant to be doing, come running off the other side in a panic.

She's not this anxious about Ross or Francesca or Harry. She's already looked in on each of them; they were fine, a healthy balance of nervous and calm and controlled. Maybe her lack of worry about how they are going to fare onstage is somewhat connected to the fact that Ross and Francesca are adults and have some live performance experience already, albeit amateur theatre, and Harry has his parents backstage with him. They'll be towards the front of the audience by the time it's his turn to go onstage.

Sapphira, however, just has Sofia, and she's semi-preoccupied looking after three year old Sienna. There's no sign of their mother- she's working tonight, according to Sofia. Jenna resists the temptation to point out that this is her own daughter's first ever live performance and the least she could do is come along and support her.

She needs to stop being so judgemental, she knows that. But it's difficult when Mirjam Hoxha continues to make so little effort to come across as interested in her daughter.

"You all set, then?" Jenna asks Sapphira, adjusting the grey silk flower clipped into her hair. The costume department have clearly taken inspiration from the American competition dance scene with Sapphira's costume; had it been down to her, Jenna isn't convinced she would have put her in a two piece costume that's more or less a bikini in a skirt. Did Grace and Rachel Harper ever put her in anything that revealing when she was Sapphira's age? Sometimes, Jenna seems to remember, but not always. Did her mother always approve? She's not sure.

All she knows is that Mirjam Hoxha had her friend and translator, Apostol, tell the costume department on Monday that she didn't mind what they did with her daughter, that she trusted them and anything was fine.

Absentmindedly, Jenna contemplates how much freedom she would be willing to give the costume department were it her child. Very little, she decides, possibly even less than her own mother gave Grace and Rachel Harper when it came to her dance costumes. No way would she trust someone she didn't know to come up with a costume for her child to wear onstage in front of a huge audience, to be broadcast live on BBC1, and not even request that the proposal was run by her first. Absolutely not.

She certainly wouldn't have been happy about the hair and makeup team hacking a good six inches off her child's hair, either, but that was done on Wednesday and Mirjam Hoxha didn't even bat an eyelid when she collected her middle daughter at the end of rehearsals. It couldn't be that she hadn't noticed; six inches is a lot to cut off anyone's hair, Jenna reasons, especially a seven year old, and a small seven year old at that. Losing that six inches or so means Sapphira's formally long, dark curls are now cut into a long bob almost to her shoulders, but at least the ends aren't tangled and split any longer. Neither of Sapphira's two sisters have tangled, split ends to their hair, Jenna notes critically; perhaps something to do with the fact that Sofia and Sienna both have alternative homes to go to.

She needs to stop this, Jenna realises, shaking herself. This is getting ridiculous. She needs to get over herself, stop thinking she knows everything about looking after a child when she's not a mother herself and is never going to be one.

"I think I'm ready." It's the first time she's heard Sapphira sound nervous all week; Jenna should have realised it wouldn't last.

"Course you are," Sofia insists. "You're fine; you know what you're doing. You got that weird turn thing..."

"The coupé turn?"

"Yeah, that one. You did it perfectly this morning in Mum's kitchen, I saw you."

"But I normally fall out of it."

"But that was when we first went through it on Tuesday, before Jenna went through it with you this week. You did the whole thing beautifully for me an hour ago, there's no reason you can't do it like that again now. You'll be fine, Sapphi, I promise. OK?"

"Good girl. Right, you need your jazz shoes, back up music... got that? You're not on for a bit yet, we'll do some stretching before you go down."

"Do we need to go?" Sofia asks, gaze flitting between Grace and Jenna and back again.

"Probably a good idea to go and work out where your seats are now, yes," Jenna tells her. She resists the temptation to ask Sofia if she really thinks it's a good idea to take her three year old sister into a live studio show that's scheduled to run on until ten in the evening. It's not Sofia's fault, she concludes, she's just a fifteen year old trying to rally something in the way of an audience to support her little sister. With the best will in the world, fifteen isn't old enough to be semi-responsible for a seven year old and a three year old.

"OK. Sapphi? Sapphi, veliko sreče!" Sofia takes Sienna's hand and begins to lead her towards the door, bent over, talking to her in something Jenna can't make any sense of. The little sister speaks less English than the mother; Jenna worked that one out fairly quickly when the three of them arrived earlier in the afternoon and tried to entertain Sienna while Sapphira was in hair and makeup and Sofia texting in the corner, having apparently momentarily forgotten she was in charge of her youngest sister.

"Good luck. You'll be absolutely fine," Jenna promises Sapphira. "You will, Sapphi, I promise. Just enjoy it."

"Will you tell me what to do if I forget?" It clearly hasn't escaped Sapphira's attention that Jenna is going to be sat more or less right in front of her.

"Of course I will, but you're not going to forget, Sapphi. Right, I'll come back and see you before the acting and we're run through it again, OK? You'll be fine."

Jenna has all of five minutes to herself in her dressing room once she's left Sapphira with Grace and sent Sofia and Sienna off to find their seats before she's expected in the wings of the stage and ready to go. She could have had more had she used her time better, really; if she hadn't spent so long with Sapphira making sure she was sorted. Then again, when doing the rounds to check on her mentees she left Sapphira until last deliberately, because she knew full well that her mother wouldn't be there with her to calm her nerves beforehand. Maybe the solution is to stop sticking her nose into other people's business and just let Sapphira get on with it by herself.

That's never going to happen though, and she knows it really. She's in too deep, and yet at the same time barely scratching the surface at all.

In some ways, that's the problem.

She doesn't allow herself anywhere near a mirror in that brief five minutes to herself in her dressing room, knowing full well that even the briefest glance at her reflection has the potential to end badly, and she hasn't got time for tears, not when she's going to be in front of a live camera in ten minutes time.

The truth is (though Jenna is rather embarrassed about it and won't be admitting to it to anyone) she had a minor meltdown in the costume department earlier.

She's not quite sure why it happened. She was feeling relatively calm at the time, Jenna's sure she was. She had had the chance to run through the acting pieces with all her mentees beforehand and she was feeling relatively confident for them; apart from the usual thoughts of self-loathing, that she's now become rather accustomed to, playing on her mind, there hadn't really been anything worrying her.

And yet when she had changed into her dress for the evening and Hollie the costume designer had told her she looked lovely, something inside Jenna had snapped.

The tears hadn't started straight way, thank god- Hollie might have thought she was unhappy with the dress she was being made to wear and behaving like a spoilt child over it, and that would have just been horrendous. She had managed to hold it in until just before she was about to head off, and then all of a sudden it had all become too much and she had been rendered unable to hold back the tears any longer.

Hollie had assumed she was simply feeling nervous at the thought of the first of thirteen weeks of live shows; she had even given Jenna a hug, promised her that it would be fine, that she'd even enjoy it once she was out there.

Jenna had played along, thanked Hollie for the tissues and the reassurance and escaped as quickly as possible.

It wasn't the prospect of the live television cameras that was upsetting her, though she would never admit to it.

It was catching sight of her reflection in the mirrored wall of the costume room, and concluding that Hollie had done a wonderful job with her dress. It's a deep, vivid shade of midnight blue, knee length, pulled in at the waist and loose and flowing below the waist. It's lovely.

It's just a shame that the person she's designed the dress for looks like a morbidly obese hippopotamus in it.

Her struggling to look at her own reflection without wanting to cry with shame and desperation is becoming worse and worse, Jenna concludes. It's beginning to get to the stage at which she knows she can't go on like this, and yet she can't see a way out. No way out except to continue restricting what she's eating, cut back as far as she possibly can while continuing to function as normal and hope and pray she'll start losing weight more rapidly. Perhaps she needs to review her list of foods she's still allowing herself to eat and transfer a number of them over to her 'banned' list.

She's lost sixteen pounds now; sixteen pounds since her now-ex boyfriend dumped her at LAX airport. One stone and two pounds off and it still isn't enough.

"You OK?" Matt asks her worriedly five minutes later, when the two of them are waiting in the wings along with David and Billie for the live show to start and their cue to emerge. "You look very pale."

"What?" Jenna asks, feigning surprise. She's not surprised, not really; Gemma said the same thing as she was leaving for the BBC studios earlier that afternoon. She knows full well that she's paler than normal because she's been restricting her eating even more than recently over the past couple of days.

It's just a case of getting used to it, Jenna tells herself, that's all. Once she's used to it she'll be absolutely fine.

"Course I'm fine," she insists, but it's too late; now David and Billie are both looking at her strangely too, and Jenna realises she's allowed her mask to slip for a fraction of a second too long.

"I'm fine," she says again, doing her best to brush off their concerns. "Honestly."

The voice of John Barrowman (who's doing the presenting, along with Freema Agyeman) from the other side of the sliding doors leading onto the stage turns out to be her saving grace. Within seconds the doors are sliding open, the four of them beginning to emerge out onto the stage and Jenna knows she's safe, that they won't be able to press her any further for a good few hours, by which point, with any luck, they will have forgotten all about it.

It's a little terrifying, stepping out onto the stage. Jenna hesitates for a fraction of a second; nervous, feeling somewhat intimidated by the roaring of the crowd, the intense volume of John Barrowman's voice over the loudspeaker. But she must have hesitated, feet rooted to the spot, for a fraction of a second too long, because suddenly Matt's hand is on the small of her back, pushing her forwards gently in order to bring her back into line with him and Billie and David. A moment later her hand is in his and he's swinging her arm loosely, clearly aware of how tense she is and trying to force her to relax. "Smile," he whispers in her ear, wrapping his arm around her waist as he poses for the cameras.

Clearly, her 'I'm fine' act is going rapidly downhill.

Somehow, she manages to pull herself together and follow Matt around to the table directly in front of the stage, at which the four of them are to sit for duration of tonight's show, with the exception of their scenes with their mentees onstage. The studio looks much, much bigger now, packed with people, than it did earlier today in rehearsals when it was empty bar the backstage crew. The stage is larger and higher than Jenna remembers it seeming earlier, the walkway leading round to the actors' table longer than she recalls it being during their brief run-through earlier. The audience seems closer, creating a rather intense atmosphere. It's like being in a concert, Jenna decides; it reminds her of being in a concert, except the heat normally experienced at a concert is missing. If anything, she feels positively chilly, shivering a little in her strapless dress as she sinks back into her chair, expecting the leather of the chair back to be cold, too, given the temperature of the room.

It takes her by surprise when it turns out to be pleasantly warm.

She's not quite concentrating as John and Freema take over again and explain how the evening and the voting system is going to work, slightly out of it as Matt introduces his first mentee, Olivia (fourteen, singer, Jenna is fairly certain; why is her brain being so sluggish, refusing to function at normal speed...?), and then the pre-video showing clips from rehearsals starts on the screen at the back of the stage area (it has a name, Jenna knows it does, but somehow she can't quite remember what it is...) and finally as it finishes she pulls herself together, pinching her arms in an attempt to wake herself up. The last thing she wants is to look as though she's struggling to keep herself awake on the live television broadcast; the newspapers will pick her to pieces, come out with some rubbish as to why she looks as though she's about to drop dead and fall asleep with exhaustion and before she knows it she'll find herself in the middle of a media fiasco, struggling to explain herself to the producers.

No, Jenna reasons, she has to pull herself together. She got herself into this mess, after all; she made the decision to cut back on the amount of calories she allows herself to consume to the bare minimum she can cope with (at present, at least, she expects she'll be able to go lower than 1000 calories and still be able to function normally in time), no one did it for her.

Is that strictly true, though? She isn't completely sure anymore, not completely sure that she did make the decision to impose this on herself. She isn't even convinced that it was Richard that started all this anymore; the more Jenna thinks about it, the more she's almost certain that he never made any comments about her weight, her personality, her height, at all.

How can she possibly be sure, given that whenever she thinks back to that evening in LAX airport, it's not Richard's voice in her head that taunts her, tells her that she's fat and ugly, uses _that word_, tells her that she's far too irritating to have around, that it's a wonder anyone can stand her.

It's not his voice at all, not ever.

It's always Laura Scott's.

She wants to cry, sometimes. Jenna wants to cry, because she doesn't understand quite what she's somehow managed to get herself into, because sometimes she thinks she doesn't understand what's happening to her and other times she thinks she might just be starting to make sense of it, and those beginnings of realisation are so completely and utterly terrifying that whenever they even begin to enter her head she blocks them out firmly, refusing to think about it.

There's a word to describe it. Jenna knows full well there's a word to describe what's happening to her, and yet she refuses to believe it. She refuses to believe it because to do so would be to accept that there's something wrong with her, that what she's experiencing isn't normal and she's slowly but surely going insane.

It's confusing. It's impossible to get her head around; it just doesn't make sense. That word, the awful three syllable word explains the voices in her head, it explains her obsession with food (or not eating it, perhaps that's better phrasing), her inability to let anything pass her lips that she hasn't added up the calorie content of first and split in half to establish how much of it she can allow herself to eat and how much of it is only going to make her fat. It explains why two months ago she was relatively happy with the way she looked and now she can't stand to look at herself in the mirror, why all of a sudden she can see bulges of fat all over her that she doesn't remember being there before.

And yet it doesn't make sense; that explanation doesn't make any sense at all. She's not going mad, Jenna tells herself, she's not. There's nothing wrong with her vision; she can see perfectly clearly how huge her thighs are, how far her belly sticks out, the bulges around her hips, how fat her cheeks are. She's not imagining it, that's not possible. She can't be seeing things that aren't there. If only.

It's all so, so, confusing. It threatens to tear her apart; that confusion, Jenna realises with a soft sigh as the video clip thing she still can't remember the name of comes to an end. She doesn't know how much longer she can go on like this, hating herself so passionately. She doesn't know how she's going to be able to continue giving off the impression of being absolutely fine when every day seems to bring a new wave of loathing within her.

She doesn't need this right now, this whole Who's Companion thing. This is the last thing she needs; being paraded in front of live television cameras, knowing that she's on national television- international, if the broadcasting in the US is to be included in this- that hundreds of thousands of people can see just how fat and hideous she is.

And yet it's too late, Jenna realises as the video ends and the first of the contestants, Olivia, steps out onto the stage. It's too late now, far too late to back out.

She's in this until the end now, like it or not.

Somehow, and god knows how, she's going to have to hold herself together for another twelve long weeks after this one.

There's no other option. No other option besides confessing that she thinks there must be something wrong with her, and there's no way Jenna is going to give in and do that.

No way in hell.

* * *

**Who's worked it out then? Let me know, and remember, if you leave me an especially nice review I'll send you a sneak review :) Please to keep reviewing, I know everyone's busy at the moment but I'm busy too, as much as I love long reviews I love short ones too, it's just amazing to know there are people reading this and enjoying this. If you can get to 430, I'll update chapter 27 by Sunday, go on, you know you want to :P xx**


	27. Chapter 27

**Thank you so, so much all you wonderful people who got behind the last chapter so quickly- I honestly wasn't expecting that at all! 04rfry, proellusionist, Green Adventurer, zoz, bethanria-proudwhoufflepuff (good guess, it'll become clear what Jenna thinks is wrong with her in the next few chapters :) Hope you're better now x), arcticmonkeys, I am Clara Oswald, What a day we had, planet of the deaf, SavetheDaleks, Vivaciousreader (cyber hugs back!), remembermewhen (ohhh you've picked up that Sapphi's mum works nights, interesting ;)), LilliasCraven, runyoucleverboy-remember, pointeofdance, librarykate, guest, ammyz1, ghosty guest, Jesusisboss and the twenty third of November, you are all amazing, wonderful people and please consider this chapter dedicated to you. This is my favourite of the ones I've written so far, hopefully you guys will like it too. **

**There's a lot more Matt coming up very soon; he hasn't been in the last few chapters as much because I've been setting something up that no one seems to have caught onto yet, let me know if you have ;) This chapter should give you more of a clue. To all my wonderful reviewers, you were so speedy I didn't have time to send you a sneak preview, but I promise to if you leave me a nice review for this one :) And thank you again so much for all the support, uni is getting better slowly :) **

**Chapter 27**

Sunday morning, just. Seven minutes past midnight, to be perfectly precise. Jenna runs her fingers through her hair in search of the last few hair pins, teasing them out of the tangles and running a brush through her hair, wincing as it catches against the knots caused by Fiona in hair and makeup's industrial strength hairspray. She's already braved the bathroom; removing her makeup without looking at herself in the mirror proved itself once again to be an impossible task. She pulls her hair back into a loose ponytail away from her face and sighs, convinced that the dimples to her cheeks are far more prominent than they were before. She hates them; she's always hated them, but that hate has never been as intensified as it is now. They make her face look fat, she's convinced of it. They make her face look fat, and she hates them.

She's already changed into the loosest pyjama bottoms and long-sleeved t shirt she owns, because she has company tonight, and she's so embarrassed by her body now that she couldn't bear for anyone to see. It's ridiculous, of course, she knows it is. It's absolutely ridiculous. And yet she can't snap herself out of it, no matter how hard she tries.

Is she going to be stuck like this forever? Jenna wonders. God, she hopes not. She can't go on like this forever.

Maybe losing more weight will make a difference.

There's a rustle of movement from behind her- she's currently sat on the edge of her bed avoiding having to look into the mirror stood on top of her chest of drawers- and Jenna sighs, something between a sigh of despair and one of empathy.

"Are you still awake?" she whispers, returning her hairbrush to its drawer and turning around, still perched on the edge of her bed but now facing towards the headboard, eyes straining a little in her dimly-lit bedroom to make out the small figure sprawled out width-ways across her bed.

"Mmm." The response is soft, sleepy, and yet there's another flurry of movement and a mess of dark curls emerges from beneath the duvet. "What time is it?"

"Hours past your bedtime," Is Jenna's response as she clambers off the edge of her bed and walks sleepily around to the side. "Move over, then."

The small form spread out across her bed moans wearily, but complies all the same, rolling over to the far side of the bed and curling up submerged under the duvet, facing in towards the other side. "Do you snore?" she asks.

Jenna laughs softly, leaning over to turn off her bedside light, plunging the room into darkness. "No I do not," she says, firmly yet lightly, collapsing back into the pillows and pulling the duvet up to her shoulders, shivering. She can't for the life of her understand why she's so permanently cold nowadays. "Do you?"

"No, but I sleep talk."

"Oh brilliant," Jenna sighs, feigning exasperation.

"In Albanian."

"I don't know if that's better or worse."

A slight pause. "Better, because at least you won't understand what I'm saying."

"Is that better?"

"I think so."

"I don't."

"Well, this was your idea, not mine. I didn't invite myself home with you."

"Yes, but your alternative was to try and climb through your mum's kitchen window. No way in hell was I letting you climb in through your mum's kitchen window."

"I've done it before."

"Oh Sapphi I really didn't want to know that," Jenna sighs, pressing her palms to her temples. She's not quite sure what she's gotten herself into, and she's fairly convinced that she would be much happier remaining blissfully unaware. "So how many times have you climbed in through the window before, then?"

"You said you didn't want to know."

"I did, didn't I? Look... we're going to ask your mum if you can have your own key when I take you home tomorrow," Jenna decides, rather impressed with herself for coming up with a fairly reasonable solution in the middle of the night.

"OK."

"And we're getting out of here early tomorrow, I'm warning you. I'll take you out for breakfast, OK? We're going to have to be out of here before my flatmates wake up."

"Why?"

"Because taking you home for the night definitely isn't a part of my contract. Plus your mum hasn't consented to it."

"Well we tried to ask her, didn't we?"

"True," Jenna sighs. She and Sapphira must have spent a good ten minutes hammering on Mirjam Hoxha's door before they had given up. A part of Jenna wonders if perhaps she should have persevered for longer, but the teenage party two doors down was beginning to verge on out of control, drunk youths glaring at them menacingly across the balcony corridor.

At which point Sapphira had shouted something in something or other that Jenna suspected involved vocabulary somewhat inappropriate for a seven year old and proposed a new plan: to climb the fire escape only accessible from down a dark alleyway around the back of the block of flats and clamber in through the kitchen window. And Jenna had decided that an alternative plan was called for.

"You're not going to phone SS, are you?"

"What's SS?"

"Social services." There's an element of minor panic to Sapphira's whispering.

"I don't know, Sapphira," Jenna sighs honestly. "You can see it from my perspective, can't you? It doesn't exactly look good, does it; your first live show performance and your mum doesn't turn up..."

"That's because she was working..."

"And then no one comes to collect you at the end of it..."

"That wasn't my mum's fault; that was Sofia, she didn't know Sofia was going to sneak off with her boyfriend and forget about me. At least she took Sienna back to her dad's on the way to Nathan's house."

Jenna groans. "So run that by me again, when you rang your sister she said her boyfriend turned up to collect her after the show had ended, there wasn't enough room in his car for you and Sienna so she left a message with your mum and ran off with... with Nathan?"

"Yep. My mum probably had her phone off, she does that a lot."

"All the more reason for Sofia not to go off without you," Jenna points out.

"She wouldn't normally. My mum says Sofia's been going off the rails ever since her GB trials rejection. She said it broke her heart and now she couldn't care less about anything."

"Not an excuse."

"Isn't it?"

"Nope. It broke my heart when I was rejected from the Royal Ballet Associates; I didn't go off the rails. I just came up with a plan B."

"Exactly."

"Hmm?"

"Sofia doesn't have a plan B. All anyone in this family's ever been any good at is gymnastics."

"Who said that, your mum?"

"Umm hmm."

"Well that's not true. You, for a start, could be a beautiful dancer. And you're not a bad actress either, if tonight's anything to go by. Plus I bet you there are lots more things you're good at."

"Maybe."

"Definitely. The world doesn't have to end when one thing doesn't work out, Sapphi, you just have to come up with a new plan."

Silence again.

"Your mum's not going to be angry with me, is she?"

"Why would she be angry?" Sapphira asks, the confusion in her voice evident.

"Because I kidnapped her daughter for the night."

"My mum won't mind," Sapphira insists. "She likes you. She thinks you'd be a good mum one day." She stops, going silent for a few moments, the only sound a soft sob from the other side of the bed. "Are you alright?"

"Hmm?" Jenna asks, a little afraid that the damage is already done. "I'm fine, just tired." She wipes furiously at her eyes with the sleeve of her pyjama top.

"No you're not," Sapphira says simply. She slides across the bed, wrapping her arms around Jenna's shoulders, hugging her. "Don't cry," she whispers. "I don't want you to be upset."

"I'm not upset..." Jenna tries to insist, but after a whole evening of struggling to hold herself together and doing whatever it takes to keep up her façade in front of the Who's Companion live cameras, she can't quite find the energy to keep going with her act any longer. She's tired, too tired, her guard well and truly let down, and before Jenna quite realises what's about to happen she has dissolved into quietly distraught sobs, all the tears she's yet to cry for the children she can now never have spilling out of her at once.

Somehow, Jenna doesn't feel as though she has to pretend with Sapphira. Maybe it's because Sapphira is too young to possibly understand about weight and body shape, is still at the age at which she idolises the adults around her, naively tells Jenna she's pretty because she doesn't really know what she's talking about (that's what Jenna is convinced of, at least). Maybe it's because even at seven years old, there's an air of... acceptance, perhaps... about her, in her very soul. She doesn't do concealing emotions, Jenna can tell that already; when Sapphira is older she's going to be one of these calming, peaceful people who tells their friends in times of crisis that it's OK to cry and sits with them and offers comfort in their darkest moments. Is it even possible to tell all that when the person in question is only a child? Definitely, Jenna decides, it definitely is possible. There's no way Sapphira would ever be able to somehow coax her into letting her guard down in her presence otherwise.

They stay like that for a while, each clinging to the other tightly, comforted inexplicably by one another's embrace. It makes no sense, Jenna ponders; they barely know each other. Two separate souls whose paths crossed by chance and most likely will break away again before too long.

And yet still in that moment they cling to one another as though they could never let go, comforted immensely by the sensation of another pair of arms around them.

"Why are you crying?" Sapphira asks eventually, whispering softly in the darkness of Jenna's room.

For once, just for once, it doesn't even occur to her to construct another elaborate web of lies.

"Because I can't have children," Jenna whispers back honestly, the words leaving her lips for the first time. Acceptance.

"Why not?" Sapphira asks, compassionate. If she closes her eyes, Jenna can just imagine the wide, sympathetic look in her eyes, too soft to make out in the darkness.

"Because I don't have a womb for a baby to grow in anymore," Jenna explains shakily, only hoping she's using language simplistic enough for a seven year old to understand, because she doesn't have to strength to go through it in any greater detail. "I had to have it removed."

"Life can be shit sometimes," says Sapphira, cuddling in closer. Jenna finds she's too tired and emotionally drained to call her out on her language.

"I know," Jenna whispers, hugging her back. "I know. But you mustn't tell anyone, OK, not anybody. You promise?"

"I promise. I won't tell anyone if you don't want anybody else to know."

"Thank you. I knew I could count on you."

A few moments' silence again; the only sound that fills her ears is Sapphira's gentle breathing. "I'm so proud of you," Jenna whispers, stroking Sapphira's hair. "You were brilliant tonight."

"Was I?"

"Fantastic," Jenna says softly. "Absolutely fantastic."

"Do I have to work extra hard next week because you've only got three of us left?" Sapphira asks seriously.

"You bet. Now Harry's out you're my only mentee in the afternoon rehearsals; all my attention's going to be focused on you."

Sapphira goes quiet for a few moments. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Good thing, because it means you get more one to one rehearsal time than anyone else."

"But a bad thing, because you're going to make me work really hard."

"Nothing wrong with hard work, hard work makes you better."

"Suppose," Sapphira yawns sleepily, stretching out like a cat as though trying to keep herself awake.

"Right come on, it's late, you need to go to sleep," Jenna tells her firmly, sitting up in order to seize one of her pillows, repositioning it alongside her body and lying down again, curling up against it. "Early start tomorrow."

"OK. Why are you hugging your pillow?"

"You would too if there was a bloody great cut down your middle."

"I thought you said that was a bad word."

"It is, if you're under eighteen. If you're over eighteen and in a considerable amount of pain you qualify for exceptional circumstances."

"What does that mean?"

"It means you're allowed to get away with it."

"Oh. Jenna?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you."

"What for?"

"For letting me stay."

"Don't mention it, Sapphi, honestly. It's alright. My pleasure. Now go to sleep, OK?"

* * *

**So who was expecting that then? And who's worked it out? Let me know, and I'll update in the next few days :)**


	28. Chapter 28

**This is going to have to be the quickest update ever- if you could see the list of reading I need to have done by 9am tomorrow morning (it's currently 9pm where I am) you'd understand why! Thank you so, so much all you wonderful people who have supported me so far, I promise I'll go back to listing you all next chapter but I really need to get this up as quickly as physically possible! Each and every one of you is seriously awesome, never forget that. If I owe you a PM I'll send you one in the morning when this mad panic is over, and to the wonderful The Twenty Third of November, I haven't forgotten your wonderful fic, the second I get time to read it (and it WILL be tomorrow!) you will get reviews, and lots of them :) More Matt and more answers coming up very soon, how soon depending on how lovely you lot are with your reviews :P **

**xx**

**Chapter 28**

She's worried, come the following Saturday, the day of the second Who's Companion live show. She's worried because she's already one of her four mentees down after Harry brought in the least of the public's votes last week and was sent home (the BBC have decided to opt for a system of the contestant who receives the least votes each week to be automatically sent home rather than an X Factor-esque bottom two lifeline performance and the judges choosing who to kick out and who to keep, thank god) and as much as she wants this whole thing to be over, she doesn't want to be the first out of her, Matt, Billie and David to have no mentees left in the competition. She might not be the biggest fan of the whole thing (and that's an understatement), but it has brought out something of a competitive spirit in her. She wouldn't say she's desperate for one of her mentees to win, not by any stretch of the imagination, but she doesn't want to come last, either.

If nothing else, Matt would never stop teasing her.

The other reason Jenna has been worried all week about tonight's impending live show is because the three contestants she has left have all been a little off throughout the week of rehearsals, Sapphira included. Ross has been nervous after a not particularly brilliant reception from the first live show, his performance in rehearsals visibly lacking in confidence. Then there's Francesca; Jenna is a little worried she may have peaked too soon. Last week she was brilliant, flawless; one of the best of both the acting and the singing performances, Jenna, Matt, Billie, David John and Freema, the presenters and various other members of the Who's Companion team had concluded during Who's Companion Extras (BBC3 filler in between the live show and the results being announced in which, among other things, the actors involved had been interviewed- Jenna's idea of hell). And yet this week she just can't seem to make it work like she did before, can't quite top her previous performances. It's a vicious circle; the more she practises and fails to quite get it perfect, the more panicked she becomes and the less likely she is to get it right on the night, when it matters. That's something Jenna is only too familiar with.

And then, of course, there's Sapphira. Sapphira is another issue altogether.

She's worried about something this week, Jenna is sure of it. There's something worrying her; this isn't just a simple case of nerves. It's definitely not a sudden loss of confidence in herself. Sapphira was fantastic last Saturday, danced beautifully, got right into her character during her acting scene. She has no reason whatsoever to lose confidence in herself, all she has to do is go out on stage this Saturday night and do exactly what she did last weekend and she'll be absolutely fine.

Hence Jenna being absolutely convinced that there's far more to this than nerves. Sapphira has been worrying about something all week, she's sure of it.

She just can't for the life of her get out of Sapphira what it is.

Even Grace Harper noticed that there was something not quite right with her newest pupil when she arrived on Tuesday afternoon to run Sapphira through her choreography for Saturday. She's gone for jazz this week, slow jazz to an Emeli Sandé version of I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel To Be Free. Technique-wise it's a little more advanced than the lyrical dance Sapphira performed last week, something which Jenna hadn't thought would be a problem when Grace had first shown her the choreography on Tuesday afternoon. Sapphira's focus and determination had astounded both of them last week; by Thursday's rehearsal she had had her fouette sequence so beautifully perfected that Jenna had consulted Grace over the phone before changing her pirouettes in the middle to front attitude turns, and still she had performed them perfectly come the night of the first live show. Either Sapphira has God-given natural dance ability, or Sofia Vlasic's plan B needs to be rhythmic gymnastics coaching; Jenna hates to admit it given last Saturday's pick up fiasco, but Sofia has done a rather brilliant job with her little sister.

All things considered, therefore, Grace and Jenna had naively assumed that they could push Sapphira again this week and she would rise to the challenge, have whatever they threw at her within reason nailed by Saturday night.

Unfortunately, it hasn't worked out quite like that.

Sapphira hadn't quite been able to pull it off when Grace ran through it with her on Tuesday afternoon, but that was alright, Grace had told Jenna, there was no need to worry about that. It was just a matter of getting used to dancing at a different tempo, executing each step a little faster and still keeping it loose and flowing on to the next. As long as Jenna ran through it with her a few times this week she would be absolutely fine, Grace had assured her former pupil. Practise makes perfect, and there was nothing in that routine that was beyond Sapphira ability-wise. She just needed a little more practise in order to get it absolutely right.

It seems that Sapphira missed that memo.

If it wasn't so horribly obvious to Jenna that there's something troubling Sapphira, Jenna might have lost patience with her by now. She _knows_ she has it in her to pull off her performance beautifully, she knows it because she's seen Sapphira do it. A couple of times, when she hasn't thought too much about what she's doing, just thrown herself into it and danced, and she's been brilliant, absolutely brilliant. And then a few minutes later they'll run through it again and she'll be like a different child, footwork sloppy, travelling on her turns and falling out of them at the end, her transitions between steps a little aggressive and out of control, as though she's so anxious about putting it all together that she ends up on a mission to get from beginning to end of her dance as quickly as physically possible and never mind the mess she makes of it in the process.

She's trying, Jenna can see that. It's not as if she's not trying.

There's something holding the poor child back and Jenna just can't work out what it is.

Unfortunately, there's very little she can do about it now. There are fifteen minutes left until live show two begins and it's too late for anything but last minute pep-talks, too late in the day to source some miraculous cure which will ensure that Ross goes out onstage confident and performs the best he possibly can, too late for Francesca to pull it together, too late for Sapphira to break away from whatever has a hold on her and dance like Jenna knows she can.

It's too late now; there's nothing more she can do.

Jenna can only cross her fingers and hope and pray that somehow, all three of them manage to pull it out the bag when it matters.

Like last week, Jenna has spent more time with Sapphira in the last half hour before they go live than with her other mentees; partly, she tells herself, because Ross and Francesca are grown adults and Sapphira is only seven, partly because Grace has been with Sapphira warming her up and partly because once again, the only person who has turned up with Sapphira is Sofia (alone this time, without Sienna) and after the events of last Saturday, Jenna isn't entirely sure she trusts her to look after her little sister.

Actually, scrap that. Jenna _doesn't_ trust Sofia Vlasic to look after her little sister, no not entirely sure about it. Not after Sofia ran off with her boyfriend at the end of last Saturday's live show and 'forgot' she was meant to be taking Sapphira home.

Jenna doesn't buy that, not even a little bit. Sofia dropped Sapphira off for live show preparation and stayed in the dressing room with her until the last possible moment; there is absolutely no way she 'forgot' she was meant to be taking Sapphira home afterwards. They all know full well she got a call from her boyfriend, wanted to meet up with him, realised she wouldn't be able to take both of her sisters home if she did and left Sapphira behind.

Jenna isn't sure she will ever be able to forgive Sofia for it. Today is the first time she's seen her since she found Sapphira sitting all alone, strangely calm, out the back of the BBC studios- looking back, it's incredibly lucky Jenna is still unable to drive after her hysterectomy and was heading towards the tube station, or else she would have gone back to her car over in the car park at the other end of the complex and she would never have seen her youngest mentee. Jenna doesn't even want to think about what might have happened had Sapphira been left there by herself all night.

Some strange instinctual force within her threatened to overwhelm her when Sofia Vlasic appeared this afternoon and give her what-for, tell her that while she appreciated it wasn't really fair for a fifteen year old to be left responsible for her younger sisters for extended periods of time on a regular basis, that was no excuse; she couldn't just dump Sapphira- or Sienna, for that matter- whenever she wanted. That she understood that she was upset after her rhythmic gymnastics rejection, most likely more than Sofia knew, but being disappointed by no means gave her the right to drop Sapphi whenever she felt like it.

She hadn't, thankfully. She had managed to resist the temptation, but only just.

If she's completely honest with herself, Jenna knows that the thought of Sapphira spending all night sat alone outside the BBC studios horrifies her far more than it should do. It should worry her, of course; the thought of a child being abandoned late at night in the middle of central London should horrify anyone with a heart. But it shouldn't worry her this much, Jenna knows it shouldn't. It worries her more than the thought of her niece being lost and alone in the middle of the night, and surely her niece should be the most important child in her life, being as she can never have children of her own? Maybe it's _because _she can't have children of her own, Jenna ponders, maybe some sort of maternal instinct within her is going into overdrive, some strange hormonal imbalance resulting from the removal of her uterus that's made her subconscious realise she's never going to have the chance to be a mother, causing her to feel rather overprotective concerning other peoples' children.

Perhaps.

Or perhaps it's because Jenna knows that most parents would realise their child was missing within minutes and search high and low until they found them.

But not Mirjam Hoxha. Unfairly or not, after last weekend's saga, Jenna has decided that Mirjam Hoxha well and truly couldn't give a damn.

It was awkward, the handover on Sunday morning. It was horribly, horribly awkward; Jenna hadn't known quite how to handle it. She had taken Sapphira out for breakfast and then the two of them had gotten the tube back over to Mirjam Hoxha's flat in Hackney. It's not far from Jenna's own flat in Primrose Hill, and yet it's a completely different world; she hadn't fully appreciated that the night before in the dark, when she had attempted to take Sapphira home and ended up smuggling her back into her own flat when no one answered the door to let them in. It's a different world; a run-down, council estate, graphitised, litter everywhere, concrete, intimidating, unwelcoming, and that's without the hooded figures lurking on the corners, glaring at anyone who passes.

Maybe she shouldn't be too judgemental.

The horribly awkward part had come when Sapphira had led Jenna back up three flights of stairs and knocked on the door, and after two attempts Mirjam Hoxha had appeared at the door, still in her dressing gown, eyes tired, half closed, thoroughly confused. At which point Jenna had remembered Mirjam Hoxha spoke very little English, and that any sort of conversation regarding the events of last night was going to be rather difficult.

"Hi," she had said simply, a little nervously, not quite sure how much to say without risking a complete communication barrier. "Sapphira was left behind last night; I took her back to my flat. I hope you don't mind. I did try to drop her home but no one answered the door." Too late, she had realised that perhaps those two sentences were a little too complicated.

Mirjam had stared at her blankly, at which point Sapphira had stepped in, glancing nervously between Jenna and her mother as she translated.

"Thank you." Mirjam's voice had been heavily accented, slightly difficult to comprehend yet sincere. "Thank you, you look after Sapphi. Thank you. Sapphi, say goodbye," she had said, taking her daughter's bag from Jenna and grabbing Sapphi's hand, pulling her inside. And that had been that; no apology, no promise that it wouldn't be happening again. Nothing. Just the door pushed shut behind them as Mirjam and Sapphira disappeared into the hallway.

But there's no point dwelling on all that now, Jenna tells herself firmly, pulling herself back to the present. Going over and over the events of last weekend isn't going to help her make any more sense of it; she's tried that tactic too many times to count already this past week and each and every time it's failed miserably.

She just wishes she knew, Jenna sighs to herself in despair. She just wishes she knew what was going on in Sapphira's head, wishes there was something she could do to help.

The trouble is, of course, there's nothing she can do. If Sapphira doesn't get her head together and perform like Grace and Jenna know she can this evening then she'll lose out on the public vote, she'll be eliminated from Who's Companion and Jenna will no longer be able to help her at all.

It's only as that thought enters her head, lurking in the doorway of the girls' dressing room in those final few minutes before it's action stations for the start of the second live show, that Jenna realises just how much the thought of Sapphira's elimination terrifies her.

"Right, Sapphi, are you all set, then?" Jenna asks, doing her best to keep her voice level, conceal her concerns. "It's nearly time to go, you're one of the first on tonight, remember."

Sapphira blinks at her, wide eyed, a little panicked. "I'm scared," she whispers.

"Hey, don't be scared," Jenna says gently, crouching down beside her. "What is there to be scared of, you've already done this all once, and you were brilliant."

"I can't do it."

"Yes you can, Sapphi, we've been through this," Sofia sighs, adjusting her sister's hair. "Of course you can do it. The only reason you don't hit it every time is because you're scared of it, not because you can't. So just don't be scared of it, yeah? You don't need to be scared of it; you can do it, easily. You're fine."

"Listen to your sister," Jenna tells her softly when Sapphira doesn't look completely convinced, a little unable to believe she's actually encouraging Sapphira to take Sofia's advice, all things considered. "You can do it, I know you can. We all know you can, Sapphi, there's nothing to be scared of, OK. Absolutely nothing. You don't have to do your best ever performance, you just have to do well enough to get through to next week; you can do that easily. OK?"

Finally, a smile and a nod.

"Good girl. Good luck, I'll come and see you before we go on for your acting and run through it again, alright?"

She hands Sapphira over to Grace, waiting until they've disappeared off in the general direction of backstage before she turns to Sofia.

"You'd better get going too, they'll be starting soon."

Sofia shakes her head. "I'm not staying," she says. "I'll come back at the end to pick her up though, don't worry. I promise. I've just... I've got stuff I need to do tonight," she says carefully.

So there's going to be no one in the audience for Sapphira tonight, Jenna realises. Poor thing. It can't be pleasant seeing all the other child contestants- and some of the adults, most likely- getting excited about their family and friends being in the audience to watch them and knowing full well there's no one there for her.

"You'll look after her, won't you?" Sofia says suddenly, taking Jenna by surprise. "You'll look after Sapphi for me, right?"

"Hmm?" Jenna asks, a little baffled. She resists the temptation to point out that last weekend she looked after Sapphi a hell of a lot more than Sofia herself did. "Of course I will, that's my job, I'm her mentor..."

Sofia shakes her head. "No, no, that's not what I mean," she says. "Sapphi hasn't told you, has she? Good god, that's a surprise, I didn't think she'd be able to keep her mouth shut for long."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm not going to be around much longer," Sofia sighs. She's made such a swift transition between sulky teenager and aggrieved adult that she takes Jenna completely by surprise. "I might be moving soon. Probably. I don't really know yet. But if I do, you'll look after Sapphi for me, right? Please?" She gives Jenna a look that reminds her so much of Sapphira; those same wide, pleading dark brown eyes. "Please?" she asks again. "No one else will."

She's not entirely sure what to say. She knows what she _wants_ to say. She wants to ask Sofia what on earth is going on, to tell her she's not agreeing to anything until she gets some answers. She wants to ask her if this is the reason Sapphira has been so off all week, because she's been afraid her older sister is going to disappear from her life, maybe forever.

She wants to demand an explanation, but that is never going to work, of course, she's learnt that much by now. Demanding an explanation is only going to cause Sofia to strengthen her defences.

"I'll look after her," Jenna says sincerely, not entirely sure what she's agreeing to but knowing she doesn't have an awful lot of choice.

"You look stressed," Matt remarks, as Jenna comes to join him backstage, in position to make their grand entrance when the live show begins. It's just the two of them so far; no sign of David or Billie just yet.

"Nice to see you, too," Jenna retorts, before leaning back heavily against the wall behind them, sighing heavily. "Your lot all ready?"

"Seem to be. How about yours?"

Jenna sighs again. "Not brilliant. They're all going to bomb out on me, I think."

"All of them?" Matt laughs softly. "Not all of them, surely? What did you do to them?"

"Oh don't you start," Jenna groans. "I don't know, I don't know what I've done to them."

"Oh come on, I was only joking," Matt softens, seemingly sensing that Jenna is definitely not in the mood for his teasing. "They'll be fine, you'll see."

"I don't know if they will, though," Jenna sighs, but before she can get any further David and Billie appear, and suddenly there's a loud cheering from the other side of the sliding door, indicating that John and Freema have stepped out onto the stage to present and the show is about to begin.

It's too late now; it's too late to seek any reassurance from Matt. She's just going to have to carry the burden herself and hope Ross, Francesca and Sapphira manage to hold themselves together.

She puts on her best façade as she steps out onto the stage beside Matt, Billie and David, smiles for the cameras, does her best to look relatively cheery and enthusiastic throughout the first two performances. And then it's Sapphira's turn, and she smiles, introduces her to the camera, only biting her lip when the video clip of rehearsals begins and she knows she has a good minute, maybe a minute and a half, before Sapphira steps out on stage to dance and the cameras could be turned on her at any moment again.

"Come on, Sapphi," she whispers, crossing her fingers, closing her eyes and praying. "Come on, Sapphi, you can do this. You've got to do this, Sapphi, you've got to. Come on."


	29. Chapter 29

**You were going to get PMs today but you're getting a chapter instead, because I'm feeling lonely and I have nothing better to do. Aren't I nice? :P Thank you so, so much all my wonderful reviewers, zoz, LilliasCraven, finchel4everbelieveinthetether, vivaciousreader, proellusionist, writingsromeo, The Twenty Third of November, I am Clara Oswald, grednforgesgirl and Whatadaywehad, you guys are seriously fabulous and if I could come and give each and every one of you a massive hug, I honestly would (and I know I've said that before, but it's true). Seriously, you wonderful people are keeping me going at the moment, you've no idea how much. It honestly means the world that you take the time to review this and I can't ever thank you enough for that. Do let me know if you saw the ending to this chapter coming, or any theories about Sapphira's mum, I don't think anyone's got it completely yet, so I'll start dropping more hints soon ;) **

**On a more positive note, I was watching Orphan Black this morning (we're only on episode 4 here, but my goodness it's addictive) and have had an idea (uh oh :P). The actress who plays Sarah/Beth/Cosima/Alison/Helena is amazing, but her cockney accent leaves rather a lot to be desired. I think we need a British remake with Jenna as the lead, we already know she can do accents convincingly. It'd be great, it could be set in London, and she could do her Oswin voice for Sarah and various regional accents for the other clones. I definitely think I'm onto something here :P **

**Chapter 29**

She escapes as soon as she can and runs along the backstage corridor, slipping her heels off and carrying them with her in order to run properly; running in heels is only going to end in disaster, and that's the last thing she needs right now. She's got limited time if she wants to be back before the menacing force of the Who's Companion live show cameras notice she's missing. She's supposed to be still sat at the actors' table in front of the stage with Matt, David and Billie, isn't supposed to be disappearing off to change into her Clara costume for the acting scenes for a good hour yet. In other words, there's still an hour to go before she's officially allowed to exit the stage.

But right now, Jenna doesn't particularly give a damn about that. Her mind is taken over by a strange, instinctual feeling that she can't quite rationalise; all she can think is that nothing else matters, that she has a duty to see to and nothing else matters, the world is just going to have to wait for a moment.

She's needed. She's needed, and there's no one else who can see to this.

"Sapphi?" she calls, still running down the corridor, not entirely sure where Sapphira will have been taken to. The girls' dressing room, she's guessing, but then she's not completely sure, rather making this up as she goes along. "Sapphira?"

Listening out carefully, Jenna detects a soft, distraught sob coming from the girls' dressing room, as predicted.

"Sapphi?" Jenna calls, more gently this time. "Sapphi, are you in here?" She pushes the door fully open a little nervously, slightly afraid as to what she's going to find on the other side. She's had to comfort Sapphira before, of course, when she had found her all alone sobbing in the toilets on the morning of her final Who's Companion audition. But this, she fears, is something else entirely. She saw the look in Sapphira's eyes when she came to the end of her performance; a part of her wonders if she'll ever be able to forget it. It was frightened, distraught; a wide, almost shocked look in her eyes, as though she couldn't quite believe what she'd just done.

She had thought she had failed by the end of her performance. Perhaps it wasn't clear to Matt and David and Billie sat beside her, or even to Freema and John, presenting, who were beside Sapphira from the moment she finished dancing. But it was perfectly obvious to Jenna that she was distraught, she could see it in her eyes, her body language. She knew full well that Sapphira was only just managing to hold back the tears, that they were going to flow freely the moment she was backstage, away from the cameras.

And with Sofia gone off to god-knows-where, there's no one else to comfort her.

Jenna has barely made it through the door and into the dressing room before Sapphira is running at her frantically, throwing herself at her, hugging her, sobbing.

She doesn't know quite what to do. The last time she had to deal with Sapphira upset she had to coax her out of it; it had taken a good five minutes to even get her to open up and express her feelings, if Jenna recalls correctly. This might not be the first time Jenna has had to comfort Sapphira, but it is the first time she's actively run to her while upset, seeking reassurance.

Somehow, that makes Jenna feel rather more under pressure to succeed in calming her down than she did on that previous occasion.

"Hey come on, it's OK," Jenna says softly, hugging Sapphira back, picking her up gently, balancing her on her hip. The still-healing incision running down her belly protests stubbornly, but she ignores it; this is far more important. "Shhh, don't cry. It's OK, you're OK. What's wrong?" she asks, already knowing the answer.

"I did it all wrong!" Sapphira sobs. "I did it all wrong, I messed it all up!"

"No you didn't," Jenna insists truthfully; she's prepared for this, she had known this would be what was upsetting Sapphira so much, she had just known. "You didn't mess it all up, Sapphi, you really didn't." Unable to stand any longer, she lowers herself back onto the sofa behind her slowly, the child in her arms ending up on her lap. "What do you think you did wrong?"

"I fell out of my fouettes..."

"Not much, though, did you? You slalomed a little bit, but you stayed on your feet, you didn't fall out of it completely."

"See, you noticed!"

"Only because I knew what I was looking for," Jenna soothes her. "You've got to remember, Sapphi, most of the people watching you don't know the first thing about dancing, and most of those who do won't be familiar with the sort you're doing."

"People who know about rhythmic gymnastics will."

"Yep, but they won't be familiar with most of your turns, will they? For all they know, maybe you were meant to wobble a little bit out of your turn sequence." It's not quite the truth, a little of an exaggeration, but Jenna is hopeful Sapphira will buy it. "Trust me, Sapphi, the only person who thinks you did badly is you."

"You're not angry with me? You corrected me on the extension at the end loads of times and I still didn't get my leg completely straight. And my feet were all over the place."

"Oh Sapphi, why on earth would I be angry with you?" Jenna sighs softly. "I'm not angry with you at all, I know you did your best, and you did brilliantly. OK, so you made a couple of mistakes, but nothing major, you still did a brilliant job. There's no reason to beat yourself up about it at all, alright? The dancing isn't the main bit you're being judged on anyway, not really. It's your acting that's important, and you've been doing brilliantly with that. There's absolutely nothing to worry about Sapphi, honestly."

"You don't know that, though," Sapphi points out. "It's not down to you, it's down to all the people watching and whether or not they decide to vote for me."

This is where this whole competition is just cruel on the younger ones, Jenna sighs wearily. Sapphira is only seven; seven is old enough to appreciate how powerless she is in this whole thing, that it's all really just a popularity contest, and yet not old enough to be grown-up and rational about it, in Jenna's opinion. How can she be? She's just a child. Seven year olds shouldn't be forced to be grown-up and rational about anything.

"I know," Jenna says softly, stroking her hair in what she hopes is a soothing gesture. "I know, sweetheart. But listen, all you can possibly do is your best, and you've done that, Sapphi, I promise you. You did your best. Maybe it's mine and Grace's fault, maybe we shouldn't have pushed you so hard technically all at once. We'll do more technique this week, OK, I'll do more technique with you. But you really mustn't worry about it Sapphi, it's not worth worrying about. All anyone can possibly ask of you is your best." Jenna pulls away slightly, watching Sapphira closely. "Have you calmed down now?"

"I think so." Her face is still tear-stained, Jenna notes, her eyes red-rimmed, makeup smeared (when she had performed and competed in dancing at Sapphira's age, Jenna had thought that being allowed to wear makeup was the coolest thing ever, and couldn't understand for the life of her why her parents weren't so keen on the idea. It's only now, looking at it all from an adult's perspective, that she sees exactly where her mum and dad were coming from on the age-appropriate front).

Her original plan had been to sprint backstage; check Sapphira was alright, calm her down as quickly as physically possible and dash back out onto the stage and into her seat as soon as she could. Now, however, Jenna feels rather guilty just contemplating leaving Sapphira all alone again. She's doing her best to put on a brave face, that much is clear, but she's still just a child. She shouldn't have to put on a brave face and soldier on by herself because the adults in her life are all too busy to give a damn. If she walks away now, leaves Sapphira with the backstage crew and disappears back off to the actors' table on the main stage, does that make her any better than Mirjam Hoxha, than Sofia? No, Jenna decides, it doesn't. Enough people have failed Sapphira already this evening; she refuses to be yet another.

"Right, come on then," Jenna coaxes her, pushing Sapphira gently off her lap, pulling her off towards her dressing room. "Go and wash your face, then change into your costume and we'll run through your acting piece again, OK? Then it'll be fresh in your mind."

"Aren't you meant to be on the stage?" Sapphira asks, her voice attempting matter-of-fact but ending up a little shaky.

"That's my problem, not yours," Jenna tells Sapphira firmly, lifting her up and sitting her on the counter in the bathroom attached to her own dressing room, reaching for the makeup wipes.

"I don't want to get you in trouble," Sapphira says worriedly, with such maturity that Jenna has to supress a laugh.

"I told you, that's not your problem," Jenna tells her gently but firmly, tilting Sapphira's head back, getting to work with the makeup wipes. "You are far more important than a reality show Sapphira, I hope you know that."

She slips back into the studio just in time to watch the last couple of minutes of Jasper, one of David's mentees, right before Francesca is due onstage and she has to introduce her. She avoids looking at Matt, sat to her left, and Billie, sat to her right, a little worried that they're going to be giving her death glares.

That's a point, Jenna realises grimly; how on earth is she going to explain her being absent for the past fifteen minutes or so? She can't exactly confess that the mother of one of her contestants is worse than useless at times and she considers it her duty to look after her whenever possible.

Thankfully, the live cameras being constantly pointed at them until the end of the talent performances delays the inevitable questions for a while; until it's time to go and change into costumes for the acting pieces and get into character, at least.

"Where did you disappear off to halfway through?" Billie asks her as the four of them make their way backstage towards their dressing rooms. "You were gone for ages." There's a hint of something hidden in the depths of her tone that Jenna doesn't quite like the sound of- resentment, perhaps? Does she resent her for disappearing backstage for so long without an explanation? Jenna wonders. She hopes not.

Besides, she tries to reassure herself, even if she had felt able to explain where she was going, she still wouldn't have had the opportunity to. There's no time for chatting amongst themselves in front of the live show cameras.

"Sapphira was upset when she finished her performance," Jenna explains, a little nervously, not quite knowing what reaction to expect. "I could tell she was upset, she was worried about one of the turns she was doing before she went on and she fell out of it a bit. I could tell she was upset, so I went backstage to reassure her she did fine."

"She fell out of a what?" Matt asks, his face a picture of confusion. "I didn't see her fall over," he frowns.

"No, she didn't fall over, she fell out of her turn," Jenna tries again, not particularly in the mood for a long and complicated explanation. "I knew she was going to be upset about it."

The subject is dropped after that; thank goodness, Jenna decides. She has no particular desire to attempt to explain why she knows Sapphira far more intimately than she does her other mentees, that she feels as though she has to be there for her backstage, even more so this week thanks to the absence of her sister, because no one else will be and this whole competition is far too much for the poor child to be put through all alone.

Thankfully, Sapphira does far better with her acting piece later in the evening than she did with her dancing; just as well really, because neither Francesca nor Ross perform to their best, in Jenna's opinion, at least. She's going to have all four of her mentees out of the Who's Companion live shows by week five at this rate. If it wasn't for the fact that she would still have to turn up for work every week even without any mentees to supervise, Jenna might find the prospect rather appealing.

All too soon it's time for the results show and Jenna finds herself stood on the main stage with Sapphira to her left and Francesca and Ross to her right, waiting, anticipating, on tender hooks as the names of the contestants through to week three of the live shows are read out by John and Freema. Francesca and Ross are surprisingly calm; Jenna wonders if they've already come to terms with the fact that they may not have done enough to get through to the next week, that they could well be the contestant to be eliminated tonight.

Sapphira, in contrast, grips her hand tightly as though clinging on for dear life. Jenna finds herself clinging on back, not quite willing to let her go. Not just yet.

She's relying on Sapphira being small and cute enough to win the public vote, even if they did notice her dance was not quite as confident as it was last week (Jenna doesn't think too many viewers will have noticed the minor technical mistakes Sapphira is so upset about, she simply doesn't think many of them will have the dancing knowledge required to have noticed). Maybe it's a feeble ray of hope, but it's the only one she has.

Audiences like small and cute, Jenna tells herself, not quite certain as to whether she's reassuring herself for Sapphira's sake or for her own.

Francesca's name is called out first and she drops to the floor in relief, head in her hands, clearly a little overwhelmed. She talked herself out of it during the break in between the end of the live show and the start of the results show, Jenna realises; she was too concerned about Sapphira at the time to properly pay any attention. She talked herself out of it after she didn't perform as well as she did last week, and now she can't quite believe it, that much is perfectly clear.

One down, two to go.

As it happens, in a cruel turn of events those two end up being the last two left over at the end of the calling out of the contestants through to next week.

Jenna is so horribly, irrationally tired that it takes her a moment to realise what's happening.

Either Sapphira or Ross has been eliminated, which one of them yet to be revealed.

And the worst of it is, even though she knows full well she isn't supposed to have favourites, Jenna knows which one of them she desperately wants to keep a little while longer.

As terrible as she knows it is, she's overcome with an overwhelming sense of relief when Sapphira's name is called out as the last of the contestants through to week three.

A relief which flows through her even though she knows full well that Sapphira's being through to week three means that Ross is eliminated.

She feels as though she's failed after that. Is this her fault? Jenna wonders, not quite sure she wants to know the answer. The end of week two and she's already two mentees down, everyone else with theirs still intact. It must be her, she must be doing something wrong. Her heart has never been in this whole thing, of course; perhaps it's her own lack of enthusiasm and willingness to properly engage with her mentees that's causing them to drop like flies. Perhaps her acting performances with them have been well and truly awful, lacking completely in substance, flat, unengaged. Perhaps she's been giving her mentees so little to work with that try as they might they can't quite play off her, don't have enough to work with to make their performance seem natural. Maybe it's all her fault.

Maybe it's her fault because she doesn't seem to have the energy for anything anymore.

She's hopeless at this, and she knows it. The poor people stuck with her must be well and truly fed up.

She cries herself to sleep that night. She cries herself to sleep because she feels like a failure, because whenever she closes her eyes she should be reminded of the defeated look on Ross's face when it became apparent that he had been eliminated, and yet all she can see is the look of pure relief in Sapphira's eyes as Freema had read out her name, the realisation that she hadn't done quite as badly as she had thought, that she had another chance to prove to herself she could do better. It's all her mind will focus on. All Jenna can think is that she's absolutely determined to make sure Sapphira does the best she possibly can next week, to push her harder than she has before if that's what it takes. She can't put her through the panic and upset she did tonight, can't allow her to come off stage again and feel as though she failed, panic, thinking she's let herself down when in reality she's done no such thing, just a few minor mistakes.

Sapphira is a perfectionist; that much is becoming perfectly clear. Jenna knows that feeling all too well.

Which is precisely why she's determined to make sure she does the best she possibly can next week. For Sapphira's sake. Jenna is becoming more and more familiar each day with feeling like a failure, and it's not a feeling she wants anyone she cares about sincerely to ever experience.

Especially not a child, who, by the sounds of things, already has enough to cope with outside the pressures of the Who's Companion live shows.

Jenna is pulled out of an uneasy sleep by a loud, electronic wailing, irritatingly persistent, only strangely familiar in her half-asleep state. She's tired, near to the point of exhaustion after a long week and a sleepless night, and all she wants is for the awful, loud noise tormenting her eardrums to stop as abruptly as it began so she can settle herself back into a restless state of sleep. She's already concluded that restless sleep is far better than no sleep at all.

But the wailing simply will not stop; it takes Jenna far longer than it should in her sleep-deprived state to realise that the sound she's finding so loud and irritating is in fact her phone ringing. She groans, rolling over, slowly, painfully, until she's in a better position to pull herself upright against the headboard, leaning over to check the time on her alarm clock as she reaches for her phone.

6.53am; who on earth is phoning her at ten to seven on a Sunday morning? It's not a number she recognises.

"Hello?" Jenna asks, a little cautiously. She doesn't normally answer the phone to numbers she doesn't recognise, not nowadays, anyway. She's not entirely sure why she decides to on this particular occasion; perhaps it's something to do with being half asleep, horrifically tired and lacking in energy and not quite being able to think straight. Perhaps. Lack of nutrition is causing Jenna to become so easily confused at present that making any sense at all of anything when she's already so horribly tired is practically impossible.

"Jenna?" A small, scared voice at the other end of the line asks quietly in response, quite clearly distressed.

Sapphira.

"Sapphi?" Suddenly Jenna is bolt upright, considerably more alert than she was just a few moments ago. How Sapphira got hold of her mobile number is something of a mystery to her at present, though for now it's not high on Jenna's priority list. All she can focus on is Sapphira's distraught tone, her soft sobs echoing horribly down the phone line. Something about her distress triggers something within Jenna she can't quite explain, something stronger even than the feeling which flowed through her veins yesterday, when she was so upset after her dance performance. "Sapphi? Are you alright, sweetheart?"

There's a gasping, gulping sound, as though Sapphira is trying to speak but too distraught to quite force the words out.

"Sapphi?" Jenna tries again, suddenly aware that the element of panic in her own voice isn't going to be particularly reassuring at all. She's softer this time, caring, doing her best to get through, convince Sapphira that whatever it is that's upset her, it isn't the end of the world, that it's fixable. She hopes it is, at least.

"Sapphi, are you going to tell me what's wrong?" Jenna asks, gently as she can, desperately trying to calm her down. "I can't help if you don't tell me what's wrong."

But still she sobs, distraught, verging on hysterical. A part of Jenna can't quite stand it; she can't stand to hear Sapphira so upset, she just can't stand it. Hearing her distraught crying down the phone line moves her in a way that nothing else ever has before in her life, makes her feel on edge, jumpy, anxious, as though it's her responsibility to make it all better and she is never possibly going to be able to focus her mind on anything else until Sapphira has calmed down and everything is right with the world again.

It's as that realisation dawns upon her, Sapphira still sobbing down the phone, having allowed herself to become so hysterical that she can't even begin to put into words whatever it is that has upset her so much, that Jenna makes her spur-of-the-moment decision.

"I'm coming over," Jenna decides out loud, not entirely sure whether she's telling Sapphira of her plan or talking to herself. "I'm coming over, Sapphira, OK, I'll be about twenty minutes. Just stay calm and I'll be there soon, alright?"

She throws on the first clothes she can find in her wardrobe that match, doesn't bother with makeup, is out of the door less than five minutes after ending the call and headed to her car, on the way over to Mirjam Hoxha's council flat as fast as she possibly can. She only drove for the first time after her operation yesterday and she still isn't entirely comfortable behind the wheel of her mini cooper again; as much as she's missed driving and the independence it brings her, she's beginning to understand exactly why her consultant told her not to drive at all until at least two weeks after her operation, preferably three. It's been far longer than that by now, and still it's a rather painful experience.

And yet no matter how unpleasant it becomes, Jenna tells herself, determined, she's just going to have to put up with it. Lord only knows why but somehow she's compelled to help, to _do something_, can't bear to sit at home in her flat knowing her youngest mentee is so upset and not doing anything to rectify the situation.

That, and she doesn't trust Mirjam Hoxha to comfort Sapphira, Jenna realises. Is that terrible? She barely knows the poor woman and already she's condemned her, made up her mind and mentally written her off as a hopeless case.

That's not necessarily fair, Jenna knows it isn't. There are several possible explanations as to Mirjam Hoxha's recent behaviour.

It's just that Jenna has a horrible feeling her suspicions are not completely unjustified. And she would far rather make an almighty fuss about nothing now than kick herself and wonder what would have happened if only she had done more about it later.

True to her word, she arrives at Mirjam Hoxha's flat twenty minutes later exactly, parking on the road outside the block of flats and racing up the stairs two at a time, running as fast as physically possible without aggravating the pain in her abdomen any further (it won't leave her completely; it simply won't. The stiff ache within her is always worse in the mornings). She hammers on the door as though she's the one with something to be afraid of, as though one of the monsters from the Doctor Who studio in Cardiff has come to life and is pursuing her for real, gaining on her rapidly, leaving her nowhere to hide.

In some ways, Jenna feels as though she _is_ the one with something to be afraid of. Perhaps that's a sign that she's allowing herself to become far too involved.

It takes several minutes for Mirjam to answer the door, and when at last she does it's cautiously; she pulls her front door open at first on the latch, peering through the gap almost suspiciously. It's only once she's seen Jenna watching her, a little confused, from the outside corridor, that she pulls the door back and takes off the chain, swinging it open completely, beckoning her inside.

"Come, come," Mirjam instructs, a strange urgency to her heavily accented English as she grabs Jenna by the shoulder and pulls her in through the door and slamming it shut abruptly behind her, double bolting the lock, putting the chain back across, peering suspiciously through the glass pane at the top of the door.

"You see... you see?" Mirjam struggles, gesturing with her hands, shrugging, frustrated, struggling to pose her question. Jenna is beginning to wonder if her English is even more ropey than she had originally thought.

"Polici?" Mirjam asks urgently. "Polici, you see polici?"

"Police?" Jenna guesses, by now considerably confused. "You mean the police? I haven't seen the police, not this morning..."

"No?" Still Mirjam doesn't look convinced, frowning at Jenna suspiciously. Does she not believe her? Jenna wouldn't be surprised.

"No polici?" Mirjam repeats, the panic in her voice, if anything, even more prominent than before.

"No police," Jenna confirms slowly, holding up her hands. She glances around Mirjam Hoxha's hallway cautiously, now feeling considerably uncomfortable. It's a tip, she concludes; the whole flat is a tip, if the hallway is anything to go by. The carpet appears as though it may once have been a pale shade of cream, now more of a caked, dirty grey. The walls are stained, a pile of miscellaneous paraphernalia stacked up messily behind the front door.

It's a tip, no other way of putting it. How anyone can possibly live in much a mess is well beyond Jenna.

There's a flurry of movement from the room to the left of the hallway, soft, frantic voices resonating, and a few moments later two figures appear in the doorway, both the spitting image of their mother, the same look of panic on their faces. Sapphira lurks suspiciously behind Sofia, eyes wide, tired, as though she's been deprived of sleep overnight, hasn't slept since getting home from the second live show the night before. Maybe she hasn't, Jenna decides; it's highly likely. She wouldn't put anything past Mirjam Hoxha.

Mirjam turns to Sofia now and mutters something to her in a language Jenna cannot make any sense of, her eyes straining a little to make out the scene in the dimly lit hallway. Sapphira simply stares at her, blushing a little, her wide brown eyes misty with an emotion Jenna hasn't seen in them until now. It's an emotion Jenna recognises almost instantly she's so used to experiencing it herself, and one, as far as she is concerned, no child should ever be forced to experience. Children are meant to be young, innocent, carefree; they are definitely not meant to bear the weight of the world on their shoulders, not meant to even understand how it feels to experience the emotion currently only too evident in Sapphira's eyes.

Shame; that's what it is. The poor child is only seven years old and she's ashamed, Jenna can see it in her eyes. It's perfectly clear that she didn't want her to ever venture inside her mother's flat, didn't want her to see this, didn't want to allow her to speculate. How is it possible for someone so young to have any concept of shame, to understand that the mess in which her mother makes her live is not most people's idea of a home and the only way to avoid awkward questions is to gloss over the truth and put on a façade. How can a seven year old even understand what a façade is? Jenna wonders. She's not quite sure. Then again, Sapphira is one of the most natural young actresses she come across in all her years of professional work; perhaps that has something to do with it. Perhaps even a seven year old is old enough to have mastered the art of improvising, as herself, no script, making the part up on the spot.

Jenna can believe that, perfectly easily. It's a tactic she's now using on a more or less daily basis herself.

And then it happens, all so quickly that Jenna barely has time to take it all in. Mirjam turns back to Sofia and Sofia grabs Sapphira's hand, pulls her little sister in front of her and shoves her firmly in the back, pushing her towards Jenna.

"Take her round the block, will you?" Sofia pleads, moving out of the way as Mirjam ushers Jenna and Sapphira back towards the front door, pulling it open. "Take her anywhere, it doesn't matter, just don't bring her back her for a couple of hours, yeah?"

"What?" Jenna frowns, thoroughly confused, not entirely sure what on earth is going on and it all happening too fast for her to fully process it, to make any sense of what is happening. People don't do this, Jenna's inner voice of reason attempts to insist; people simply don't do this, it's not normal. What kind of mother dumps her child on a virtual stranger at a moments' notice, having not even have been expecting that person to show up on their doorstep in the first place, most likely?

Mirjam Hoxha does, it would seem. There's not even the faintest trace of concern etched across her face as she pushes Jenna and Sapphira out of the door, her older daughter close behind her. It's so impersonal, so uncaring, this whole episode; Jenna feels a little as though she's entered some sort of parallel universe, a world in which nothing makes sense, in which it's the norm for mothers to be cold and detached towards their daughters.

And all the while this baffling scene plays out, Sapphira watches blankly, almost curiously, all previous distress vanished from her face. She's calm as anything as her mother turfs her out along with Jenna, doesn't bat an eyelid. Jenna wouldn't be surprised if she's done something similar before.

"What's going on?" Jenna asks; a little pathetically, she realises too late. She can't find the words to express herself any more eloquently, far too confused by now.

It's Sofia who speaks up. "Don't ask," she pleads. "Please, just don't ask."

But Jenna shakes her head firmly. "You're asking me to babysit your sister at a moments' notice after she called me in tears, don't you think I have a right to know what the hell's going on?"

"I'm about to be arrested, and I don't particularly want my little sister to see that!" Sofia snaps, and it's only as those words escape her lips that Jenna realises she's crying silently. "And there's no one else. And you thought it was a good idea to leave Sapph with your phone a few weeks ago, you should have realised she'd write down your number and you'd never get rid of her. So please, just take her down the park or something, anywhere, I don't care, but make sure she doesn't have to see me go down, yeah?" And then she turns to Sapphira, murmuring again in that strange tongue Jenna can't make any sense, of, pressing an envelope into her little sister's hand and pulling away all of a sudden, slamming the door in their faces, leaving Jenna with her sister, out alone in the corridor.

It's only at the harsh, scraping sound of the bolt across the top of the door that Sapphira finally cracks again, only at the sight of her so upset that Jenna loses the plot completely, and before either of them quite realises what's happened they're crying together, sobbing hopelessly in one another's arms.


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30- slightly scary how long this is now! I'm not entirely sure how many chapter long this is going to end up; I can't really give you a hugely accurate estimate without giving away the week of the first three chapters, though you're more than welcome to make your guesses ;) But I can tell you that there will be around 10 chapters after the story line catches up to those chapters, plus a sequel if you want it. Though you may not like the ending of this much without the sequel, just a warning ;) **

**Thank you thank you thank you all you amazingly wonderful people who reviewed the last chapter: readaholic1999, Crazybowtiegirl (for all your reviews and kind words, I'll send you a PM later :)), only-the-sassiest, librarykate (ohhh I love that you've picked up that Jenna's perfectionism is beginning to rub off, interesting... ;)), Vivaciousreader, RedAugust102, Jesusisboss (aww it's seriously amazing to know that, thank you), guest, wondgirl20, I am Clara Oswald, proellusionist (thank you so much! And yes, more Matt next chapter :)), finchel4everbelieveinthetether, lilliascraven, writingsromeo, remembermewhen, What a day we had, Hilary Weston and runyoucleverboy-remember. Seriously, you guys are the best. This is the last of the pre-written chapters, so if you want me to finish the next chapter (with a Matt scene you'll hopefully like :P) then you'll have to review ;) **

**This might also be the chapter some of you have been waiting for, you'll see what I mean... :)**

**Chapter 30**

_'You shout it out,_

_But I can't hear a word you say_

_I'm talking loud not saying much_

_I'm criticized but all your bullets ricochet_

_You shoot me down, but I get up.'_

_Titanium, David Guetta_

"I don't know how we're going to snap her out of it," Grace murmurs gravely to Jenna from the far corner of the dance studio, glancing over worriedly at Sapphira, still warming up on the other side of the room. "She's got limited time to learn this anyway; there's not a chance of getting through all the choreography tonight if she's like this. Poor kid," Grace sighs, shaking her head. "Talk about bad timing."

"Tell me about it," Jenna groans, leaning back against the mirrored wall behind her. "It's like she's in mourning- actually, scrap that, she probably is."

"It's not completely illogical," Grace points out. "She's lost her sister. They're clearly close, from what you've said; it sounds like her sister looked after her a lot. And now she's gone and it could be months before they see each other again, that's like eternity when you're seven. 'Mourning' is probably exactly the right word to describe it, she's mourning a sister she's not going to see again for months. That's hard enough for an adult to deal with, let alone a child." Grace pauses. "I don't suppose you know how long it's going to be before the sister's released?"

"No idea," Jenna sighs. "I only know what Sapphi's told me; the mother's English isn't up to much. The sister's been sent to a young offenders' institute in Birmingham, apparently. Sapphira seems to think there are plenty of closer places Sofia could have been sent, but her social worker recommended she was sent somewhere out of London."

"That's what the mother's told her, presumably?"

"I don't know. Given the circumstances, I could believe it, in all honesty."

"Hmm?" Grace frowns, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I didn't tell you everything on the phone," Jenna admits, lowering her voice. "It's complicated."

"Go on."

"The burglaries with the boyfriend's gang were the reason Sofia was arrested, but they weren't the reason it got messy." Jenna sighs, closing her eyes momentarily in despair. "You remember me telling you that Sofia doesn't live with Sapphira? It turns out..." she groans, trailing off, not entirely sure how best to begin to explain without making this whole situation sound worse than it is. Because it isn't as bad as it sounds, Jenna attempts to reassure herself, not really. She refuses to believe it. "It turns out Sofia's in foster care, has been since she was six. Sapphira claims she doesn't know why. Sapphira was born in Slovenia so presumably the mother went back over there shortly after and that's why Sofia stayed in the system but Sapphira never entered it; I don't know. The mother was given limited contact time under supervision a few years ago but the two of them took matters into their own hands; Sofia's been sneaking round to see her mum and sisters for months now."

"And it was only when the police got involved over the burglaries that social services realised what was going on?" Grace guesses, sighing when Jenna nods. "Talk about complicated."

"Sounds like it. I just don't understand," Jenna sighs, despairing. I don't understand what on earth was going through the mother's mind..."

Grace frowns a little at that. "How do you mean?"

"She must have known this could happen!" Jenna exclaims under her breath, glancing nervously back across the room, hoping she hasn't raised her voice loud enough for Sapphira to hear. "Surely she must have realised... her daughter's in foster care, for God's sake, surely she must know that violating the terms of her contact agreement, that encouraging her daughter to violate her contract agreement, would end badly? OK, so she had limited contact time with Sofia, I get that, but surely limited time is better than the none at all she'll have now?"

"I think you're missing the point," Grace says softly.

"Hmm? How am I missing the point?"

"You'll understand one day, when you have children," Grace insists. "We don't know what's gone on, Jenna, we don't know the circumstances. For all we know, there's some reason she's not allowed increased contact hours with Sofia; maybe this is as good as it's ever going to get. This is her daughter we're talking about; wouldn't you risk everything for your child? Maybe she's not thinking about the future, she's only thinking about the present. It's not sensible, no, but it's understandable. She's only doing it because she cares about her child."

"But that's just it, I don't know if she does," Jenna confesses. "I don't know, there's just... there's something so detached about the way she was in that meeting..." She trails off at that point, deciding that mentioning how detached and uninterested Mirjam Hoxha seemed when she dropped Sapphira back home to her the morning after the first Who's Companion live show, or this past Sunday, when she brought Sapphira back after taking her out for breakfast to get her away from the madness in her mother's house. Probably best not.

Sofia had been long gone by the time Jenna had returned with Sapphira, Mirjam Hoxha far from as upset as Jenna would have expected, given the circumstances (she has to stop doing this overanalysing, she knows that, but it's far harder than it sounds). Mirjam's social worker, Nadine, had still been at the flat, filling out some paperwork with her client with the aid of a translator, had pulled Jenna to one side as she had attempted to drop Sapphira off quietly and leave. It was a delicate situation, Nadine had explained, Mirjam's contact agreement where her elder daughter was concerned. It was a delicate situation for a whole host of reasons, but she wasn't to worry, because it didn't affect Sapphira. Not directly, at least; Mirjam would no doubt be in trouble with social services over meeting her elder daughter outside the terms of their contact agreement, but she would handle that. If her short speech had been intended to reassure Jenna, it most certainly had not succeeded.

If anything, it had worried her even more.

"It's probably nothing," Grace insists, though there's an air of uncertainty about her tone, a definite sense of not completely believing it herself. "This isn't your job, Jenna; it's not down to you to worry about this."

"But what if no one else does?" Jenna sighs. "Someone's got to worry, what if no one does?"

"Of course they do," Grace says firmly, a little more adamantly this time. "You're reading into it too much, I promise you. Not all parents are as engaged and supportive as yours were, unfortunately, but that doesn't mean they don't care. You'll understand one day," she says again, and it takes all of Jenna's self-control to keep herself from screaming that you won't understand, that she'll never understand, because the chance of being a mother has been robbed from her already at the age of twenty seven and the worst of it is she hadn't even realised how badly she wanted a child until all hope was gone.

She doesn't, of course. She has just enough self-control left, thanks to the overwhelming feeling of failure burning harshly within her heart, to hold in those feelings of anger and self-pity. She refuses to allow them to explode out of her, adamant that the last thing she needs is anyone else's pity to add to her own. No one will understand, Jenna knows that much. How could they? It's her who has to live with this, and she has to do it by herself.

"She'll be fine," Grace says softly under her breath, watching Sapphira closely as she finishes warming up. "Jenna and I are just going outside, Sapphira," she calls across the studio, gesturing to Jenna to follow her lead. "You finish stretching; we won't be a minute."

"We won't?" Jenna frowns, following Grace out of the studio all the same. "Where are we going?"

"Just outside for a moment," Grace repeats, leading her out into the corridor, waiting until the door has swung shut behind them before she continues. "I've got a plan."

"A plan to cheer Sapphi up?" Jenna hopes. "You'd have to be a miracle worker to pull that one off, and even if she's coming to terms with the fact that her sister's not coming back in time for Saturday, she won't have had a rehearsal in which she's properly concentrating. God only knows what I'm going to do with her," she sighs leaning her head back against the wall behind her and closing her eyes. "God only knows."

"Do you remember your nationals solo when you were nine?" Grace asks suddenly. Her question is so unexpected, so out of the blue that it takes Jenna completely by surprise. "Your great grandmother went into hospital the week before nationals weekend, do you remember? You went with your mum to visit her and missed your penultimate rehearsal, and then by our last run through slot she'd gone, the day before if I remember correctly. And you didn't want to do it, remember? You told me you'd do your group dances but there was no way you were doing your solo, and when I asked you why you said you couldn't get on stage by yourself and dance when you felt so sad. And I told you..."

"You told me to dance it as though it was for her," Jenna finishes, knowing by now exactly where Grace is headed with this. "You told me to channel all my feelings into dancing and dance it like I was dancing it for her."

Grace smiles. "Exactly. I'm not going to try and cheer her up, I'm just going to work her hard with the choreography and get her to dance from her heart. She's an actress and she's hurting; give her emotional lyrical, get her to express herself and she'll be brilliant. If she can pull it off, this could be her best performance yet. Trust me."

"And if Sapphi doesn't pull it off?" Jenna sighs. "She's not used to this, Grace; she's not used to performing, let alone being thrown out on a stage in front of god knows how many people. Plus she's not nine, she's seven. She's younger than I was and she's less experienced than I was."

"Not much younger," Grace insists. "A year and a bit. You underestimate her."

Jenna is silent for a few moments, contemplating. She's worried, if she's completely honest with herself.

She's worried that this is too much, that Sapphira is just a child and expecting her to perform this weekend, the first time without her sister at least there with her backstage, is asking far too much of her.

She's worried that she'll freeze, that she'll be too upset to perform and distraught afterwards that she messed up, that she'll have to deal with that failure on top of the emotional distress of losing her sister for the foreseeable future.

She's worried that with any of the other under eighteen contestants the parents would step in at this point and pull their child out, that Mirjam Hoxha is just using this whole competition as childcare and certainly isn't about to make the best decision for her daughter, recognise that the pressure to perform this week is quite possibly too much for Sapphira to cope with.

She's worried that no one else is going to fight Sapphira's corner, that if she doesn't do what's best for her then no one will.

And yet she won't do it, Jenna realises, with a horrible feeling of guilt. She won't pull Sapphira out of this, even if a part of her wonders if it might be the right thing to do.

Pulling her out would mean saying goodbye, and that's something Jenna simply can't face.

Not yet.

"OK, you win," Jenna sighs, surrendering at last, albeit with a little lingering reluctance. "It's not as if there's really a choice, is there." It's not a question.

Grace nods, turning back towards the door to head back into the dance studio. "She'll be fine, Jenna, honestly," Grace insists. "Technically, she's come on in leaps and bounds, not that many people voting are going to be able to pick up on finer technical aspects, anyway. She'll be fine, you'll see."

Jenna only wishes she could believe it.

Sapphira's heart isn't in it during the choreography session, that much is obvious. It's only been two days since Sofia was arrested; of course her heart isn't in it. All things considered, Jenna decides she would be more worried if Sapphira threw herself into the choreography with enthusiasm.

"You're going to have to do more tidying up with her this week, if you have time," Grace murmurs to Jenna as Sapphira disappears off with her mother (Mirjam has bothered to turn up and collect her daughter herself two days in a row now, Jenna notes; perhaps Nadine the social worker is encouraging her to make more of an effort in light of the weekend). She's got the choreography but it's sloppy, her arms are all over the place."

Jenna hasn't failed to pick up on that for herself, of course. She's got her work cut out this week rehearsing Sapphira enough to be ready to dance onstage, and she knows it only too well. This isn't going to work, she realises with a sinking feeling in her heart. There's no way this is going to work. If Sapphira is so lacking in concentration that she's struggling to pick up her choreography with Grace walking her through it, demonstrating, god only knows how Jenna is going to perfect her technique without dancing alongside her. Because she's not demonstrating; there's absolutely no way Jenna is demonstrating anything.

She wants to, for Sapphira. She badly, badly wants to, because she knows demonstrating to her how to hold her arms in her firebird leap, showing her that it's possible to make a smooth transition from a fouette into a front attitude turn how to drop down gracefully onto her knees without tensing up and bracing herself for the impact, could well make all the difference. She also knows that she's capable of doing it; she's done it plenty of times herself, even done it enough recently to know she hasn't lost the ability.

But by now, a little over two months on from her relationship ending unexpectedly and those tormenting voices entering her head, what little of her confidence that remains is in tatters. The mere thought of dancing in front of somebody, even Sapphira, is enough to fill her with panic; the last thing Jenna needs is for somebody to see her contorting her body, for somebody to watch her attempt to move with the grace of a dancer and only succeed in resembling a morbidly obese rhinoceros. She's far, far too embarrassed for that. The whole experience would be nothing but humiliating.

She'll think about it, Jenna tells herself, more than a little reluctantly. She doesn't have to make a decision now; she can wait until tomorrow, see how she feels about it then.

Maybe her dancing won't even be necessary come tomorrow; maybe Sapphira will make a miraculous emotional recovery overnight and turn up for rehearsals tomorrow as alert and determined as she was back during the first week of the Who's Companion live shows. Maybe.

Then again, Jenna sighs, maybe not. Maybe she is going to have to think about this a little more seriously, after all.

Unfortunately, yet somewhat predictably, Sapphira fails to make the miraculous overnight transformation back to her normal self that Jenna had desperately hoped she might just manage. It's not just her dancing that's temperamental; she doesn't seem to throw herself into her acting with her usual passion (is that the right word? Jenna isn't sure; is a seven year old even old enough to understand what a passion is, to have any concept of what it means to want something so badly?) either; her heart not quite in it, as though all the fiery determination within her heart is dampened and she's left lacking the energy to carry on an awful lot longer.

She's got to make a decision now, Jenna realises, Tuesday evening alone in the dance studio with Sapphira after her acting run through. It's Sapphira or her own ridiculous fear, she realises that. She has to choose which one she values the most highly, make up her mind as to whether she is prepared to get over herself and do everything she possibly can to help Sapphira, or whether the voices in her head are going to be allowed to get the better of her once again, to find yet another way to impact negatively upon her life.

Except it's not just her own quality of life that's suffering because she can't get those voices out of her head, not this time. It's also Sapphira's.

That Tuesday evening she watches Sapphira closely as she attempts to master her turn sequence in front of the mirror, does her absolute best to focus her gaze on her mentee, to avoid catching sight of her own reflection in the wall of mirrors. Her hatred of her own body is so intensified by now that Jenna isn't entirely sure she would be able to hold herself together if she caught sight of her own reflection in the background of Sapphira's, and that, she tells herself, would achieve absolutely nothing. Surely it's better simply watch Sapphira than to risk dancing alongside her to demonstrate and potentially lose all control and bursting into tears- because they will be uncontrollable, scarily irrational tears, she knows that much from experience. Not only would that upset Sapphira, it would render her completely useless for the remainder of this evening, and Sapphira needs this time; she badly, badly needs this rehearsal time if she's going to master her dance piece by Saturday night.

And so she bottles out. It's relatively easy to do. When Sapphira wobbles, almost falls out of her transition into a front attitude turn, Jenna knows full well that showing her how to do it properly might well help; that's something she knows from watching Grace and Rachel Harper when she was around Sapphira's age.

But she doesn't of course.

She gives in to the fear.

She settles for adjusting Sapphira's arms and feet and telling her to hold her core, ignoring the guilt stirring within her.

And then something changes on Thursday evening. Jenna can't pinpoint exactly what it is, but something changes. Something changes within her; suddenly she seems to have an epiphany, to realise that whatever this is that has a hold on her, it's selfish. Under normal circumstances, Jenna knows full well that nobody else in the world gives a damn what goes on inside her head, but right now is different.

Right now is different because in this moment, it's not a simple case of whatever goes on inside her own head is her own shit to deal with, not now. Whatever she chooses to do in this moment will affect Sapphira; if she doesn't do absolutely everything she can to help her she might not need to be helping her at all this time next week, end of.

But that's not the only reasoning behind Jenna's suddenly changing her mind. The other aspect of it is difficult to describe, curiously problematic to put into words. The complex truth of it is that some strange, inexplicable feeling has been surging through her more and more of late wherever Sapphira is concerned, and even as it intensifies, trying to rationalise it is proving more and more difficult.

She would do just about anything for her; Jenna has already realised that much. She would do just about anything for Sapphira, because somebody has to, because it's perfectly clear her mother wouldn't and Sofia isn't around to look after her anymore.

That's what she tells herself, anyway.

And so when on that Thursday evening Sapphira wobbles again and slaloms on her transition into her front attitude turn, that curious feeling surges through Jenna again, and before she is quite aware of what she's doing she has kicked off her shoes and rolled her socks up over the balls of her feet (thank god she opted for leggings and boots today, if only because she was particularly repulsed by the sight of her legs this morning and she's convinced herself that jeans just make her thighs look colossal and her belly stick out), gotten to her feet and told Sapphira to stop, turning off her music.

"Watch," Jenna says shakily; she's far more nervous than she should be. She takes a deep breath, shakes out her right leg, poises herself, preps, focuses her gaze firmly on the reflection of the door in the mirror in a somewhat desperate attempt to avoid catching sight of herself, psyching herself out at the realisation that she looks far too fat and ugly to possibly be a dancer. And then she pushes off and she's spinning, and right from the moment she brings her right leg up into passé and back out into seconde again she feels as though she's free, weightless, at peace with herself again in a way she hasn't been for a long, long time.

She hasn't danced since her operation, worried about pulling awkwardly at the wound still running up her belly (it's only now beginning to heal; why is it taking so long to heal?), and suddenly she feels as though a weight has been lifted off her shoulders, as though just for these few moments, nothing in the world is unsolvable, as though maybe she won't be horribly unhappy forever and ever after all, not if she keeps on spinning forever.

She turns neatly in eight fouettes; more than Grace has choreographed in a row for Sapphira, but by now she's caught in the moment, remembering just a little how it feels to be happy again. And then she makes her point, smoothly gliding her right leg forwards and bringing her right arm up above her head and into front attitude, three more rotations, the sensation of her hair whipping against her cheeks making her feel strangely alive.

She kicks her right leg back out straight again, two more fouettes, leg back into passé and three pirouettes, four coupé turns (she's showing off a little now and she knows it, but it feels so good to be moving like this again that she can't quite help herself), arms down in first before landing neatly, holding her core until the last possible moment despite the uncomfortable pull down her midsection, coming to a halt before she allows herself to exit neatly, dropping off relevé, feet falling flat on the floor at rest. And the moment her body ceases rotating those few blissful moments of emotional release are over, and Jenna has to fight against herself in order to turn back towards Sapphira before catching sight of herself in the mirror, determined not to allow herself to crack.

"You see?" she asks Sapphira, who is watching her closely, a little in awe. "Smooth transitions, that's the answer. You're doing this." She brings her right leg back into seconde, arms open, brings it smoothly into passé and closes her arms, then jerks her leg out sharply into front attitude, right arm moving forcibly up above her head. "You see what I mean? You're jerking too much; you need to be smoother, more flowing. You throw yourself off balance when you jerk, I promise if you smooth that transition out you'll find it much easier to hold your balance. Like this, see?" She turns briefly again, two fouettes into attitude turns into another two fouettes, two pirouettes and land. "Don't think about hitting each position separately, think of it as just moving through each one; it's meant to be a fluid process. Does that make sense?"

"I didn't know you could do that," Sapphira breathes, eyes wide with admiration. "That's so cool!"

"What's so cool about that, you can do it too!" Jenna laughs. She blushes all the same, a little embarrassed, though it's not the same embarrassment she was so afraid of. This isn't humiliation, it's a far kinder emotion than that. In all honesty, she's a little flattered.

"Yes, but not like you can," Sapphira insists. "When you do it it's all smooth and pretty."

"Yep, and it will be when you do it too, when you stop jerking and do it smoothly," Jenna tells her reassuringly. "You can do it, Sapphi, I know you can. You've just got to relax and do it smoothly."

"It sounds really easy when you say that," Sapphira complains, and Jenna has to fight back the urge to laugh.

"That's because it is easy, once you've got the hang of it. Come on." She steps away. "Your turn again."

"Will you show me how to do a la secondes later?"

"Only if you get the hang of that transition. And then we need to work on your firebird, you're all stiff at the moment."

Sapphira pauses, thoughtful for a moment. "So I have to get my dance perfect before you'll show me how to do anything else?"

"Yep, that's it exactly. You need to master what you're already learning before you can learn to do anything new. Plus we need to sort your emotion out."

"Hmm?"

"You're just dancing at the moment, you're not feeling it. Not as much as I know you can, anyway. You have to think of it like acting, telling a story."

"What story?"

"That's what you have to decide," Jenna tells her gently.

"What do you think?"

Jenna pauses for a moment, choosing her words carefully. "I think," she says slowly, "That you need to think about who you want to dance this for."

"Why?"

"Because that's how you're going to make sure this is your best performance yet, Sapphi, don't you see? Think about it. This is your chance to let out any feelings you need to let out, show everyone you're going to be just fine without your sister. I know it's horrible, sweetheart, I can't even begin to imagine what it's like to lose your sister, but this is your chance to show everyone that you can cope without her, OK? However hard it might seem now."

"But I can't cope without Sofia," Sapphira insists. There's a raw honesty in her voice, a desperation that just about breaks Jenna's heart. Damn, she's in too deep, Jenna realises; she's in far, far too deep for Sapphira's distress to be having this much of an effect on her. And yet at the same time, she's far too deep in this to dig herself out any time soon.

"Yes you can," Jenna tells her gently, sitting down on the floor beside her, holding her hands. "Of course you can. I know it doesn't seem like it right now, Sapphi, but you can, I promise you can. It'll get better. So you've got to treat Saturday night as a chance to show your sister that you're going to be OK, you understand? I bet you anything she's going to be watching; you've got to make it perfectly clear to her that you're dancing for her, do you think you can do that? I do," she whispers, squeezing Sapphira's hand tightly. "I know you can do it, Sapphi. I believe you can do it."

Jenna is feeling considerably better come Friday night. OK, so Francesca is still struggling with both her acting and her singing performances for tomorrow night, but Sapphira is alive with a new, fresh determination, a stubborn refusal to give up unlike anything she's demonstrated before. God only knows how, but somehow, it seems that Jenna managed to get through to her yesterday evening, succeeded in triggering something within her, a belief in herself she had been lacking for the past week.

She's even managed to sort out her turn sequence, her transitions all of a sudden smooth and gentle, calmer, somehow. She's stopped overthinking it, Jenna realises; she's stopped thinking too hard and worrying about it and started enjoying it, she can see it in her eyes. There's something in her eyes that wasn't there before, a fiery passion in their very depths, one Jenna is rather familiar with herself.

Sapphira has discovered it; she's certain of it. Sapphira has discovered what it means to fall in love with something, and from this point onwards there's no turning back.

For that reason, Jenna is reasonably confident that her youngest mentee is going to perform to the very best of her abilities tomorrow night. She can do it, Jenna knows she can. There's emotion in her dancing that wasn't there before, rawness to her performance. She's doing exactly as Jenna had told her to; she's dancing from her heart, exposing just enough of herself to pull off her performances.

She can do it, Jenna knows she can. Sapphira doesn't even have to do it quite as passionately as she has been in Friday rehearsals and she'll still pull it off, she's certain of it. Of course she can.

For that reason, she's far calmer this Friday night than she has been for the previous two weeks, since the Who's Companion live shows began.

Perhaps it's that fresh wave of calmness, so unexpected after the stress of the past two weeks, that causes her to say yes when Oscar Robson invites her round to his that night.


	31. Chapter 31

**I'm warning you now, you're going to hate me for the start of this chapter. Feel free to register your complaints via review/PM, but I'm afraid I'm only just getting started on the being mean front. Sorry ;) **

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**Chapter 31**

When she awakes, she's in absolute agony.

She's disorientated, not entirely sure what's happening, where she is, how she got here. All she knows is that she's in pain, agonising pain; a surging, white-hot throbbing sensation in her midsection that's so intense she has to bite down, hard, on her tongue to prevent herself from crying out in agony. She moans instead, the sound muffled thanks to her still biting down firmly, aggressively, just a little panicked.

It hurts. It hurts so, so badly, the worst pain she can recall ever experiencing in all her life; up until recently she was still on the painkillers, but she had stopped taking them a few days ago, deciding that she was being pathetic and surely she was recovered enough by now to no longer need them. Mostly she's been absolutely fine since coming off the painkillers, but right now she can't cope with it at all, can't stand to lie still in so much agony yet knows before she even begins attempting to shift herself into a more comfortable position that moving is only going to trigger a whole new wave of pain.

Yet despite her suspicions, she attempts to pull her knees up to her chest, crying out, distressed, as her body reacts instinctively to engage her stomach muscles, a tight, cramping sensation ripping through her before she's even got particularly far in raising her legs. And suddenly there's a pair of arms wrapping tightly around her middle, and they clench her tightly, too tightly, squeezing uncomfortably against the burning pain of the still-healing incision left over from her operation. She gasps sharply, inhales, choking back a sob of agony as her legs are pushed sharply back down away from her body, a heavy weight rolling on top of her, crushing down into her chest, pressing painfully on her wound.

"Shhh." The voice that silences her is harsh, bordering on aggressive, the weight on top of her pressing down harder. "Quiet."

The next thing she knows, she's coming round again and it's morning; she can tell that much from the sunlight seeping in through the gaps in the unfamiliar curtains. It's morning, and she's awoken by a pair of rough, strong hands feeling up her breasts.

Jenna jumps, startled, still half asleep and somewhat unsettled by those hands touching her so intimately, sliding away across the mattress, shivering. She's naked, she realises with a start; she's sure she remembers slipping into bed in a borrowed t shirt and her underwear... doesn't she? Her mind is such a hazy mess that she can't quite remember.

"Sorry," Oscar Robson breathes. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

She wants to ask him what on earth he's doing, to tell him that no wonder he startled her, that after just a few weeks of dating she doesn't feel she knows him particularly well just yet in the general scheme of things. And besides, even if they had been together for a year she's not convinced she would want him touching her up while she's asleep and in no position to consent to it or otherwise.

And then she sees the look of desire in his eyes and something about the way he stares at her causes Jenna to wonder if maybe she's being ridiculous, if maybe she's only going to embarrass herself by saying something. Maybe this is normal, she ponders anxiously, maybe this is perfectly normal and she simply hasn't come across it before, isn't used to it.

The moment those seeds of doubt have entered her head, of course, Jenna knows full well that she's too afraid to say anything. She doesn't want to make a fool of herself in front of the one man who seems to want to be with her despite her hideous unattractiveness; to do that would be to risk leaving herself with nothing, and Jenna doesn't know if she can cope with being quite so alone, not now, not on top of everything else she's already facing.

"I know, it's OK," Jenna manages to stutter, only hoping she manages to sound at least a little convincing. "It's OK," she says again, hoping if she repeats it she might just begin to believe it herself.

"Sorry," Oscar says again, shuffling back over towards her, smothering her again. She allows him to do it this time, doing her best to relax, telling herself that this position won't feel quite so uncomfortable if only she could relax. "What time do you have to get going?" he asks, pressing his lips to hers.

She kisses him back slowly, a little cautiously, before pulling away to give him an answer. "I need to be there by two," she tells him, shivering, pulling the duvet up over her shoulders.

Oscar nods. "So if you factor in time to go back to yours first, I only have you to myself for another couple of hours, then."

She smiles apologetically. "Afraid so."

Oscar shrugs. "Not to worry," he begins suggestively. "I'm just going to have to make the most of you, aren't I?" He leans in towards her once more but Jenna holds him back, frowning anxiously.

"Oscar?"

"Hmm?"

"Last night..." Jenna tries to explain tentatively, not entirely sure where to start. "What happened last night? The middle of the night, I mean..." she stops; she hasn't the faintest idea as to where she's going with this. Now she's begun, she's not sure she remembers enough to begin to explain that peculiar scene which won't quite leave her this morning, that's worrying her, just a little. "I think I woke up, I don't really remember..."

"You were in pain, I think," Oscar says carefully. "You were crying out, you sounded distressed." It's his turn to pause now, a little concerned. "Are you still not going to tell me what you had done? Your operation, I mean."

"It's none of your business," Jenna tells him firmly, a hurt in her voice which she can't quite explain. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Fine," Oscar shrugs. "I won't make you. But you're OK?" he asks.

"Of course," Jenna insists.

"Good."

"Did I wake you?"

"Doesn't matter, I'm glad I woke up. I could tell you were in pain."

"Sorry."

"I told you, it doesn't matter," Oscar tells her gently. "I managed to calm you down quite quickly, you went back to sleep. Don't worry about it, honestly."

It's only much later, when the final live show run through has been completed and she's in her dressing room getting change for the show, that Jenna realises why she's felt so sore all day. The scar remaining from her surgery is more obvious than she remembers it being yesterday; it was finally beginning to cross the line between cut and scar and become closer to the latter, yet now it seems rawer again, more painful. She examines it, a little anxiously, as she changes into her dress for the evening, struggling to work out whether it really does seem less healed over than it did last night or whether it's merely her imagination.

Perhaps she simply scratched at it subconsciously in her sleep?

Of course, that must be it, Jenna decides. That's the only real explanation she can come up with.

Should it really be taking this long to heal? Jenna doesn't know; she isn't a doctor. A part of her worries that it should have made more progress by now, but she skipped her last follow-up appointment, too ashamed to allow her doctor to see how fat and rounded her belly has become (because she might have lost weight since her operation but she _looks _as though she's put on about three stone, she's completely convinced of it), isn't completely sure. Perhaps it's taking longer to heal because it was such a deep incision? Yes, that explains it, Jenna decides; she'll keep telling herself that. It's just because it was a fairly major operation (that has to be the first time she's willingly admitted that to herself) that she's not healing properly, of course it is.

It has to be.

Thank god Hollie the costume designer has given her a loose dress this week, or else it might have been too uncomfortable to keep a straight face and act as though everything is absolutely fine any longer.

Jenna is determined not to resort to the painkillers again; she's decided that she has to wean herself off of them at some point, that she must be being well and truly pathetic about this if she's still dependent on them so many weeks on from her operation.

She's not weak. Of course she isn't. She can cope with this, quite easily.

She'd like to think she can, anyway.

"You'll be fine," Jenna tells Sapphira gently, kneeling down on her eye level when she drops in to see her youngest mentee before they go live for week three. No one has bothered to turn up to watch Sapphira this week; her mother didn't even hang around to walk her in, and Jenna doesn't even have to ask Sapphira to know that no one else is going to be coming later to watch, not a chance. Sapphira hasn't even mentioned any relatives besides her mother and her sisters, and by now, they've had rather a lot of time to begin to get to know one another (more than they should have had, in all honesty; perhaps it's best to keep that to herself). "You know what you're doing, you did it perfectly earlier. Do it like that again and you'll be brilliant, OK? Just enjoy it."

Sapphira eyes her a little nervously, biting her lip. "You're staying, aren't you?" she asks.

It's a question that makes no sense, absolutely no sense at all, and yet at the same time, a part of Jenna can understand why Sapphira feels the need to pose it.

"Of course I am," she says gently, adjusting Sapphira's hair. Hollie the costume designer keeps sending her out on stage for her dance performance with her hair down and the front clipped away from her face; it probably drives her crazy when she's dancing, Jenna concludes. Maybe she needs to have a quiet word with Hollie. "Right, you need to warm up now. Good luck, just enjoy it, and I'll come and see you afterwards," she promises. "Even if I have to sneak out for a few minutes."

"You're not meant to do that," Sapphira points out matter-of-factly. "The backstage people told you off when you did it last week."

"That's for me to worry about, not you. You just concentrate on being brilliant, OK?"

"You look different," Matt remarks, taking Jenna completely by surprise at the two of them wait backstage for the cameras to go live. It's just the two of them so far; they're early, and Billie and David are yet to make an appearance. "I can't work out what it is, but you look different."

"Do I?" In her addled state of mind, Jenna can't quite work out whether Matt's statement is intended as a compliment or not.

"Mmm," Matt nods, face pensive, pondering. He looks her up and down, seemingly oblivious to Jenna's discomfort at his gaze scanning over her. She's not sure she can bear it an awful lot longer.

"It's probably just this dress, I don't think the colour's brilliant," Jenna tries, concluding that perhaps if she makes it clear she knows she looks goddamn awful Matt will drop the subject.

"What? No, you look lovely!" Matt exclaims, a little shocked; Jenna can't work out if that shock is stemming from her thinking he was pointing out something negative or at how easily that compliment seems to have slipped off his tongue. "You look lovely, it's a compliment. Have you lost weight?" he asks, and his question makes her jump. Not because Jenna is flattered he noticed, but because she's fully aware that she still needs to lose more weight, that the sixteen pounds she's managed so far simply isn't enough. She's been stuck at sixteen off for over a week now, unable to shift any more no matter how hard she tries, how long she starves herself. It's as though her body is simply refusing to allow her to lose any more weight; for now, at least, because she's going to beat it, she's made up her mind of that much. She's determined by now that if she perseveres long enough and hard enough, sooner or later she will win this battle of wills against her own body.

Jenna doesn't know exactly how much weight she wants to lose just yet. She simply knows she won't be able to stop until she's lost enough that she feels comfortable with her body again.

Maybe not even then.

"A bit," Jenna replies quietly, blushing a little. She doesn't understand why she's suddenly come over so shy; she wanted him to notice, after all. Didn't she? She's been completely obsessed with her weight for weeks now, has thought of very little else, and yet now someone has finally noticed she feels just as self-conscious as she has all this time having to exist in a frame she so despises. It doesn't make any sense, not in the slightest.

Then again, Jenna realises with a sigh, when it comes to her state of mind, very little makes any sense nowadays.

"You look great," Matt tells her, and there's sincerity to his tone that makes Jenna blush again. She's been waiting for him to notice her for a while now, of course. Maybe, just maybe, this is a sign that he's beginning to?

A part of her hopes so. And at the same time, another part of her wonders if perhaps it's better for him to not notice her just yet, not until she's had the chance to lose more weight. If he begins to notice her now and is put off by her size before anything even begins to occur between them, that might be her chance to be with him gone before they've even given it a try.

"Thanks," Jenna manages to blush, just thankful that Billie and David appear shortly after and the subject is dropped. It's the first time she's ever been relieved at the start of one of the live shows.

Francesca is the first of her two remaining contestants to perform. She does better, in Jenna's opinion, better than she did last week. Whether or not it's going to be enough is debateable, but she does better; that's something.

If Jenna is completely honest with herself, she is pinning almost all of her hopes on Sapphira anyway.

She's not so nervous for Sapphira's performance this time. The past two weeks she's been horribly nervous sending Sapphi out onstage, far more nervous than she can ever remember being herself at Sapphira's age when Grace and Rachel sent her off to dance competitions. She makes a mental note to ask her mum casually the next time she speaks to her how nerve-wracking it was for her all those years ago, sending her daughter out onstage. Not that it's the same thing, of course, Jenna knows that. Having your own child and merely looking after someone else's isn't the same thing at all, not even close. But it's the nearest source of reference she has.

But that's not the point. The point is that Jenna isn't half as nervous for Sapphira this week as she has been previously.

It's different this week. It's different this week because she knows Sapphi can do it, she knows that after all the work they've done this week, she's capable of a higher difficulty level than anything included in her choreography. Jenna makes a mental note to ensure Grace ups the difficulty level of Sapphira's choreography for next week; they can push her harder, if the progress she's made this week is anything to go by. But that's a challenge for another week; for this week, Jenna can relax a little, knowing that they've done as much preparation as they possibly could have, that for once, she's pushing Sapphira out onto the stage perfectly ready for this.

For once, she can actually enjoy it.

Beyond shadow of a doubt, it ends up being the best Sapphira has ever performed _Titanium_. Something comes alive within her the moment she steps onstage, something Jenna recognises; she can't put a name to it, can't quite explain it, yet she remembers feeling exactly the same way herself, what now feels like a lifetime ago. It's like flying, as horribly cliché as it sounds; it's like discovering a previously unknown ability to fly, wings spread out as a protective shield, heart lifted, feather-light, without a care in the world. It's a state of existence unlike any other, a state in which nothing else matters, in which all the cares and concerns which haunt the rest of the day disappear just for a few minutes, leaving peace and hope in their place, if only for a while.

If only the world could always seem so peaceful and pleasant.

Maybe that luxury is a distant impossibility, but that's OK. It's OK because those brief few minutes of solitude seem to be enough for Sapphira, who manages to hit each of her corrections perfectly, floating effortlessly through her transitions, unrecognisable from the struggle she was having with them earlier in the week. She owns it in those two and a half minutes, dances as though she believes she can do it, as though she's finally realised that it's not about acting, it's about laying her heart down raw and exposed. She's dancing it for her sister,

And then she finishes, and the wide smile of happiness and relief that she's managed to pull it off is perfectly evident across Sapphira's face. It makes it all worth it, Jenna realises; Sapphira's wide smile as she lands in her finishing position makes it all so, so worth it. It's the first time she's seen her so happy at the end of a performance, the first time she's seen Sapphira properly smile this whole week, ever since Sofia's arrest.

Jenna has long since first realised that she would do anything to make her happy.

Perhaps it's the praise she receives from her dance performance that causes Sapphira to go out onstage for her acting performance significantly less nervous than she has in the past. It's perfectly clear to Jenna, acting alongside her, that she's far more relaxed today than she has been for the past two weeks, that her mild fear at stepping out onstage in front of so many people is beginning to subside. She'll be a natural by the end of this, Jenna tells herself; come week thirteen she'll have the usual pre-performance nerves of a professional, but nothing more.

Because she will get Sapphira through to the week thirteen final.

She will. Jenna is absolutely determined of that.

She stands in between Francesca and Sapphira, holding both their hands as the results are called out. It's week three and she is the only one of the 'mentors' to have lost a mentee, and she's two down at that. She doesn't want to be three down by the start of week four; that would just be horribly embarrassing.

Then again, Jenna realises, she's becoming rather used to feeling constantly embarrassed.

Sapphira is called out near the beginning; she's safe, she's through to week four. And then she has to disappear off to the side of the stage, and all Jenna can think about is that everyone else's family and friends will be slipping out of the audience to join them backstage, except Sapphira who will be left all alone, because no one has bothered to turn up for her. It's not fair, Jenna sighs, a little bitterly. It's just not fair. She deserves far better; she's just a child. It's not fair; it's not fair at all.

Two left. Only two left; Francesca and one of Billie's contestants, Hayley. Jenna grips Francesca's hand a little tighter, anxious, contemplating. As much as it pains her to admit it, out of the two of them, Hayley was the stronger performer tonight, hands down.

Her only hope is that the voting public didn't see it.

And then John Barrowman, presenting, calls out Hayley's name and it's all over, and Francesca closes her eyes and sobs and Jenna sighs despairingly to herself and wonders why on earth she agreed to take part in this. It's exhausting, this whole process; it's well and truly exhausting, especially seeing people she's been rehearsing with all week completely and utterly broken when they discover they've been eliminated so soon.

She thanks her lucky stars she was handed her acting break on a silver platter in the form of Emmerdale; Jenna doesn't know she would be able to put herself through a process like this as a contestant. It's bad enough from this side of it all.

"I'm so proud of you," Jenna whispers to Sapphira backstage, after the end of the post-results show when she's finally escaped from the BBC3 cameras for one more week. Sapphira was meant to have been collected by her mother when the main results show ended but Mirjam Hoxha is still yet to appear, and as a result Sapphira is still waiting in Jenna's dressing room (Jenna has now given her strict instructions to wait quietly in her dressing room whenever her mother fails to show to collect her, not wanting the Who's Companion producers to know just how unreliable Mirjam Hoxha can be). "See, I told you. I knew you could do it."

Sapphira nods sleepily, curled up in the corner of the sofa beneath the window. It's the first time she's properly let her guard down in front of Jenna; normally she will do anything and everything in her power to keep herself from falling asleep, even when it's perfectly obvious she's exhausted.

"Just let me get changed and I'll take you home," Jenna tells her gently, grabbing her change of clothes from her bag and slipping off her dress behind the curtain at the other end of the room, safely out of sight. "Have you got a key this week? Sapphi?"

"Mmm."

"Good, that's something. What are you doing tomorrow afternoon?" Jenna asks, emerging again, changed back into a loose dress and leggings.

Sapphira shrugs.

"Right then, we're doing ballet tomorrow afternoon. I'll come and pick you up."

"We are?"

"Yep."

"I already do ballet on Mondays," Sapphira points out.

"Yep, I know you do. Ballet is brilliant for technique; the more ballet we do, the better your contemporary dancing will be."

Sapphira pauses, pensive; as pensive as she can possibly be while only half awake, at least. "Does that mean you can teach me to do a la secondes?"

"Yep, I'll teach you to do a la secondes if we do enough ballet technique," Jenna tells her, mocking a sigh. "Is that a deal?"

"OK."

"Good." Jenna bends down, picking Sapphira up and balancing her on her hip, clinging onto her tightly, ignoring the sharp pull in her abdomen. "Come on, I'll take you home."


	32. Chapter 32

**So sorry for the delay, the end of this chapter was ridiculously hard to write (as you may understand when you get to it!). Maybe go back and reread the first 3 chapters before you read this one, they should be starting to make more sense in more ways than one after this chapter... ;) **

**Thank you as ever to all my wonderful reviewers- that's the most reviews I've ever had in one go for a chapter, you guys are absolutely amazing and I honestly can't thank you enough. Savemecleverboy, Crazybowtiegirl, vivaciousreader, travellingtardis (I'll make a list and post it with the next chapter :) ), writingsromeo, memorialfantasy, jesusisboss, McKenzieAnne, Impossible Girl, LibraryKate, chasingthestars123, guest, proellusionist, guest, guest, Finchel4everbelieveinthetether, Planet of the Deaf, What a day we had, redaugust102, savethedaleks, The Twenty Third of November, I am Clara Oswald, Hilary Weston and Run You Clever Boy Remember, you lot have no idea how happy your reviews make me. Honestly. If I owe you a PM/beta/review then it's coming, I promise, I'm doing them in a bit :)**

**In other exciting news, Jenna's skirt from Nerd HQ is from Topshop and you can buy it online, though it's £40 :/ Mine is on order, never mind student budgets :P **

**This chapter is dedicated to the wonderful person who worked out the meaning behind my pen name.**

**Chapter 32**

_'Hold on. Hold my hand._

_Storm clouds are circling, hungry for barren land.'_

_Inside the Tornado, Amanda Marshall_

It's that Tuesday, the Tuesday of week four of the Who's Companion live shows, that everything changes.

It begins with a rather panicked phone call from Grace Harper.

Jenna is in the dance studio when her phone rings, instructing Sapphira as she warms up. Grace is running late, she knows that already; there's been an accident on the M6 not far off the merger from Preston and she's been stuck there for more than three hours now. Her and Grace's usual catch up before Sapphira's choreography session has been missed already, and now it's just a case of hoping that Grace manages to make it to the BBC London studios sooner rather than later. Grace has even promised to stay longer if necessary, assured Jenna that if she can make it down the M6 as far as London, she will stay as long as she needs to in order to get Sapphira's choreography sorted. Emphasis on the 'if' part of that particular equation.

And of course this week has to be the only week so far in this whole Who's Companion extravaganza that Grace hasn't sent Jenna Sapphira's music and an outline of the choreography via email before the choreography session. She can't even start trying to familiarise Sapphira with the music, attempt to talk her through the choreography and hope she gets the general idea (if it were guaranteed that it would just be her and Sapphira for the rest of the evening then she might try to dance alongside her and demonstrate, but there's absolutely no way that is about to happen when Grace could walk in at any moment. Absolutely no way; that would be just humiliating.

It's not selfish. Not really. Sooner or later, Jenna tells herself, Grace will arrive and sort out Sapphira's choreography far better than she would ever have managed. Plus this whole justification is completely irrelevant anyway, because she doesn't have the music or the choreography, because this is the one week Grace didn't email her either in advance.

The voice or irrationality within her can't quite work out whether that's a bad thing or not.

She's sat on the floor, legs stretched out in front of her, supervising Sapphira's stretching when her phone begins to ring. She glances at her watch as she pushes herself to her feet and rushes over to her handbag to pull out her phone; 5pm. She must be making progress by now, Jenna tells herself, surely?

She hopes so. God only knows what she's going to do if Grace can't make it.

"Hi Grace," Jenna greets her former teacher, suddenly aware that up until the moment the words left her mouth, she was holding her breath in anticipation. "How are you getting on?"

"Not great," Grace sighs. "I've barely moved in the past few hours, it's a nightmare. I don't know what to do, Jenna," she confesses; Jenna can hear the confliction in her tone. "Even if this traffic clears in the next few minutes it's going to take me a good four hours to get down to you at this time of day..."

"No, it's not worth it," Jenna agrees, doing her best to keep her voice calm and level. "Sapphi's going to be in no fit state to be learning anything that late at night anyway, plus she's got school tomorrow morning."

"That's what I thought you'd say. I'm so sorry about this, Jenna," Grace groans. "I'm so sorry, but I just don't see how I'm going to be able to get down to you tonight."

"Oh Grace, don't apologise, it's not your fault," Jenna insists. "It's just unfortunate, that's all, you couldn't have known this was going to happen."

"I know, I'm just worried about how I'm going to find the time to do her choreography," Grace sighs. "Tomorrow's not going to work... I could probably get down to you on Thursday if I can talk Rachel into covering my classes, but that's only giving Sapphira two days to learn her dance... we'll have to do that, I suppose. When I eventually get off the motorway I'll send you over the music and try and find the time to record the choreography; do you think you could get her to watch it through, walk through it with her tomorrow? Then I'll try and come down on Thursday and run her through it properly."

"That sounds doable," Jenna says reassuringly; it doesn't sound like a particularly good idea to her at all, yet at the same time she can see that Grace's options are really rather limited. There isn't really another option, that much is perfectly clear. They're just going to have to do what they can and hope and pray Sapphira manages to pull it off, regardless of lack of practice time.

Jenna is more than a little worried that might just be expecting too much of her.

"I'm so sorry about this, Jenna," Grace sighs. "I just don't know what else to suggest."

"No, don't apologise Grace, it's not your fault," Jenna insists again. "There's nothing else you can do. I'm just sorry you've been stuck there for so long..."

"And that's not your fault, either," Grace points out. "Right, I'd better go; I'll try and get the choreography sorted out as soon as I can when I get back."

"Thank you," Jenna tells her gratefully. "I hope it doesn't take you too long to get back."

"Thanks," Grace sighs. "Wish me luck." And then she ends the call and the line goes dead, and Jenna fights back the urge to despair.

How on earth they're going to make this work is anyone's guess.

"Was that Grace?" Sapphira asks, seeing that Jenna has put away her phone. "Is she nearly here?"

Jenna hesitates, not entirely sure what to tell her. She hadn't thought of this until now; the knowledge that she's not going to have the chance to run her choreography properly until two days before she's due to be performing it onstage is most likely going to freak her out big time. Learning choreography on Tuesday to be performed on Saturday is stressful enough, even when she picks it up quickly. Having a first proper run through on Thursday is almost certainly going to be too much.

There is an alternative, Jenna realises. It's an alternative that hadn't even occurred to her until she stopped and worried about how Sapphira was going to react to Grace's absence, an alternative that she knows full well could go horribly wrong. She's not entirely sure she's brave enough to risk it; not because she isn't prepared to do it for Sapphira, but because she doesn't want to get it wrong and leave Sapphi in more of a mess than she's potentially in already.

Then again, Jenna ponders, she can't get anything productive done with Grace's choreography today anyway, not when she doesn't even know what she has planned, what music she's picked out. And it's now definitely just her and Sapphira alone for the duration of this rehearsal slot; there's no one to laugh at her.

She might as well give it a try. Neither of them have anything to lose.

"Slight change of plan, Sapphi," Jenna tells her, doing her best to keep her voice light and confident; revealing that she's rather nervous about this is only going to cause Sapphira to lose all confidence in her before she's even started. "Grace has been caught up behind an accident on the way down, she's not going to be able to make it today I'm afraid. So what we're going to do is this: we'll have a go at choreographing something together, and Grace will try and come down to help us on Thursday if we need her to, OK? Does that sound like a good plan?"

Sapphira pauses, tilting her head pensively. "So you're doing my choreography?"

"Yep, are you happy with that? You'll have to help me, I've never done this before. Well, I have, but only for myself, and not for a very long time."

"OK." Sapphira's acceptance of this new plan is so calm, so trusting, that she makes Jenna feel a little more confident about the whole thing. Just a little.

Jenna only hopes her only remaining mentee doesn't have a little too much faith in her.

"Right, well I haven't got a plan just yet, so you're going to have to be patient," Jenna warns her, rummaging around in the bottom of her handbag, hugely thankful she happened to bring her iPod with her today. "Come on, you can help me choose the music. Lyrical or contemporary? I'm not doing jazz, I feel ridiculously self-conscious doing jazz."

"Contemporary."

"OK, we can manage that between the two of us, can't we?" Jenna suspects she's more asking herself than she is Sapphira. "Just don't tell anyone I'm doing the choreography, will you? Especially not Matt."

"Why not?"

"Because he makes fun of my music tastes as it is." Jenna pauses, scrolling through her music library. "How about this; do you like this?" She hands Sapphira a headphone, watching her face closely for a reaction. "It's acappella; you'll have to really count carefully, can you do that?"

She nods enthusiastically, determined.

"OK, we'll try it then. But you're going to have to be really, really patient Sapphi, it's been ages since I've done this."

It takes Jenna all of two and a half hours to choreograph less than two minutes' worth of dancing. Is that shocking, she wonders? Grace can get through it with Sapphira far faster _and_ have time left over afterwards to go through it and refine it, begin making corrections and getting her completely in synch with the music, but Grace doesn't make it up on the spot, she reassures herself. Making it up on the spot it's perfectly acceptable to take two and a half hours working on less than two minutes of choreography, surely? Even when working with a seven year old and more or less recycling material from previous weeks.

All in all; however, her attempt at choreography turns out an awful lot better than Jenna had expected it to. Sapphira is a godsend; she's so enthusiastic that she doesn't mind more or less being made to work for two and a half hours solid. A part of Jenna is a little worried that her own perfectionism might be beginning to rub off on her.

She's enjoyed it, too; far more than she had expected. She's enjoyed the actual dancing part, enjoyed discovering completely by accident while attempting to demonstrate to Sapphira what she wants her to do next that somehow she is still able to pull off steps she hasn't attempted in a long, long time now. Admittedly not as well as she could have done them ten years ago, though thankfully Sapphira manages to make her choreography attempt look an awful lot better than Jenna herself ever could. And, of course, she looks like a dancer, rather than a

"Are you going to remember all that until tomorrow?" Jenna asks Sapphira a little anxiously as they come to the end of their extended rehearsal slot (Jenna has already left Mirjam Hoxha a message to tell her than she's going to have to keep Sapphira a little longer tonight and she'll drop her home later; she knows without even having to ask that she won't mind). "Right, you know what, can you do it for me again, by yourself this time, so I can film it?" Jenna pulls out her phone from her handbag. "I'm not risking you forgetting it overnight."

"I'm not going to forget it overnight," Sapphira insists, though she runs through her routine again all the same, perfectly in character; smiling in all the right places, hurling herself as though out of control in others, eyes wide, rabbit in the headlights ("you're lost," Jenna had told her earlier; "you're caught in a storm and you can't get out, you don't want to get out. You don't want to have to face what's going to be left behind"). She kicks back into her firebird with flexibility Jenna hadn't even realised she had until now, throws herself down out of her pirouettes with just enough control to make it look forceful yet strangely precise. For a routine thrown together in a mad panic, it suits her, Jenna determines, somehow it fits. Maybe it's the lyrics.

Jenna decides she doesn't particularly care what it is that's making Sapphira connect so well with this choreography, as long as it's working.

"Do you fancy coming round to mine tonight?" Matt asks Jenna as she emerges from the dance studio, Sapphira still inside getting changed.

His proposition takes her completely by surprise. It's true, of course; thanks to the hectic Who's Companion schedule taking over their lives the two of them have barely spoken about anything that isn't work related over the past three weeks, coming up to four. The thought of spending the evening with Matt is wonderfully appealing (far more appealing than the thought of spending an evening with Oscar, though it pains Jenna to admit it and she does her absolute best to suppress those feelings well and truly). She would have to make some excuse to go home first in order to slip away and drop Sapphira home first, of course, but Jenna is quite willing to work around that. Anything to spend the evening with Matt.

Until, that is, those fatal words are uttered, and Jenna's initial enthusiasm turns to panic rather rapidly.

"I feel like it's been ages since we've had time to catch up properly," Matt continues, voicing Jenna's own opinions on the matter. "Why don't you come round tonight? I'll cook you dinner," he offers casually, completely oblivious to the anxiety that stirs within Jenna the moment food is brought into the equation.

Now she's in something of a dilemma. She badly wants to allow herself to say yes, to accept Matt's invitation; after the surprising success (she thinks it was a success, anyway) of her choreography attempt with Sapphira this evening she's feeling far more confident and content with herself than she has for weeks. She doesn't feel nervous about it like she would have done had he asked her earlier, she even feels as though maybe, just maybe, she might be able to relax and enjoy herself without worrying about Matt picking up on her appearance and how fat and hideous she looks.

But then there's the issue of dinner. He hasn't just invited her over, he's invited her over for dinner, and she can't allow herself to eat dinner today, Jenna reminds herself. It's her own fault; she should have exerted some willpower and stopped herself from eating the sandwich and the apple she had for lunch today if she had wanted to have dinner. Maybe she can allow herself to eat some of it... but no, that won't work either, Jenna realises with a sinking feeling in her heart. She can't possibly only eat as much of Matt's cooking as she concludes she can allow herself without risking hurting his feelings.

Even if she decided to allow herself this evening off this strict regime she seems to have placed herself on without fully realising it until it's happened ('regime' seems to be the best word to describe it. It's not a diet, she's far too obsessive about it for it to be a diet), Jenna isn't convinced she knows how to allow herself to eat any great quantity of food at once anymore. She's almost afraid to.

And that fear leaves her with only one option.

"I'm sorry Matt, I can't tonight," Jenna tells him apologetically, glancing slightly nervously towards the door of the dance studio as she begins to make her excuse, at least a little based on the truth. She's rather hoping Sapphira isn't going to choose this particular moment to emerge and leave her having to explain to Matt why she's dropping her home. She may not be thinking particularly clearly at the moment but she's not stupid; she knows full well that she's crossing the line. That said, knowing she's crossing the line isn't going to make her stop any time soon.

"I'd love to, but I can't, I said I'd meet Oscar tonight," Jenna lies smoothly. It's a good enough cover; she's more or less certain Matt doesn't know Oscar well enough to check. "Sorry. Another time, maybe?"

"Definitely, we'll have to do it another time," Matt tells her enthusiastically, a hint of disappointment in his voice that Jenna doesn't fail to pick up on. A part of her is rather glad that he's disappointed she won't be coming over tonight; is that normal? He's only a friend, after all; maybe this isn't quite as normal a state of mind as she would like to believe.

Maybe she needs to accept that Matt is about as far out of her league as it's possible to get and remind herself that she already has a boyfriend.

She emails Grace the video footage of Sapphira dancing the following morning, when her flatmates have all headed off to work and everything is quiet (now Sapphira is her only remaining mentee Jenna has the mornings off, giving her some much needed time to herself). She's rather nervous about sending it; hesitates for a few moments before finally clicking 'send'. She thinks she's done a reasonably good job with Sapphira's choreography, doesn't think what she's come up with is too awful. She thinks the music works. But Grace is experienced at this, she's been doing it for years. Surely anything Jenna has managed to produce is going to look rather amateur to her?

It's too late to turn back now, of course. She didn't have to attempt to take the choreography issue into her own hands, but she's done it now; she can't bottle out now she's already taught Sapphira it.

She's just going to have to hope Grace doesn't laugh too much when she gets her email.

She spends the rest of the afternoon refreshing her inbox every other minute, a little panicked. It'll be fine, Jenna attempts to reassure herself; she didn't attach a message to her email to Grace, didn't mention that it was her who put the choreography together. If Grace thinks it's awful she always has the option of telling her the teacher who gives Sapphira a rhythmic gymnastics lesson without the apparatus on Mondays put it together.

That said, she's telling enough lies at the moment. It's already becoming rather difficult to keep track of them all.

Her phone rings at the perfect moment, just as she's trying to fight off the urge to allow herself to eat something in the way of lunch. She can't have lunch, she's already had breakfast today (a banana and a yogurt, low fat) and she knows she's not going to be able to get out of dinner; Gemma's cooking homemade pizza. A part of Jenna is a little worried that her flatmate was eying her suspiciously when she emerged from the bathroom in just a towel yesterday morning, that it was that encounter that lead to the proposition of flat pizza tonight, no arguments.

She doesn't understand what's going on in her own head at the moment. She doesn't understand how she can have those moments in which she worries that maybe she's taking this whole losing weight thing a little too far for a few irrational moment, then the next minute completely convinced that there's nothing wrong with her state at all, adamant that the reflection she's faced with when she looks in the mirror is disgustingly fat and vile and the only way she's ever going to feel even vaguely happy with her appearance ever again is if she starves herself. Or is it the starving herself that's irrational? Jenna doesn't know, not that she particularly cares any more. She's in far too deep to change her mind about all this now, even if she wanted to. It's too psychological now for her to be able to stop.

And so when her phone rings and it offers her a distraction from her battle of wills with herself, something to distract her from the overwhelming need to eat for a little longer, Jenna answers it as fast as she possibly can, despite her fears as to what Grace is going to make of her choreography attempt.

"Hi Grace," she says cheerfully, attempting to disguise her nervousness, to keep it out of her voice. She tries to think of something else to say but can't quite find the words, falling silent. She knows full well why Grace is phoning; a part of her wonders if maybe it's best to cut to the chase.

"Jenna..." Grace trails off, though even in her tone as she says her name Jenna can detect hints of disbelief. "Did you choreograph this?" she asks. "This video?"

"I..." Jenna stammers, not quite sure whether to own up at this point or not.

"I'll take that as a yes, then. Jenna there's nothing to be nervous about, it's great!" Grace insists; only then does Jenna realise that the element of surprise in her former teacher's tone is one of pleasant surprise, not mocking. "Honestly; I wouldn't say that if it wasn't. Did you come up with it by yourself?" she asks, that disbelief still evident in her voice. "Jenna?"

It's only as Grace prompts her that she realises she's gone rather quiet, not quite sure what to say. She's a little taken aback by Grace's compliments, in all honesty, flattered yet taken aback.

"I just..." Jenna stammers. "I don't know... I thought last night was going to be a waste of time, that I might as well try and come up with something..."

"You did more than come up with something, Jenna! Seriously, it's great! And it's, what, your first attempt at doing that? Blimey, you really have been paying attention," Grace laughs. "I love it, honestly. The music suits her so well, it's perfect."

"You think it's performance worthy? I won't be offended if you don't, I'd rather you said so."

"Have you listened to a word I've said?" Grace laughs. "It's brilliant, Jenna, I don't think I could have done an awful lot better than that."

"Oh don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not, it's true."

"You're a dance teacher."

"And you were a performer," Grace points out. "You never lose that, no matter how long you're away from it. And you understand Sapphi so well too, that much is obvious. I'm not changing it, Jenna, it's great the way it is. You just need to tidy her turns up a bit, maybe try and get the whole thing a bit more controlled hectic, if that makes any sense. You want it to look like she's caught up in a storm yet in control of herself at the same time, right? But other than that I wouldn't change anything, Jenna, it's great. God, you've gone and made me redundant now!" Grace laughs.

"What?" Jenna exclaims, a little horrified. "Don't be ridiculous, I got lucky, once! Sapphi chose the music, anyway, she was practically in synch with it before we even started on the choreography..."

"But you made it work, Jenna," Grace points out. "You put the choreography together, you made it into something that worked, something Sapphira could pull off. The dancer's just the performer, the choreographer's the artist."

"Is that your way of taking the credit for my nationals wins?"

"You bet it is," Grace laughs. "Seriously, though, I'm happy to come down on tomorrow to help you tidy it up if you really want me to, but I think you're doing a pretty good job by yourself."

"But I'm not a dance teacher, though," Jenna protests. "Just because I managed to throw some choreography together last minute on one occasion, doesn't mean I can do it again, and it certainly doesn't mean I know how to teach someone to do it properly."

"Fine, you win," Grace laughs again. "But you could do it, Jenna, you could do it by yourself easily if you wanted to." She pauses. "Next week. Think about it, OK? And don't tell me you can't demonstrate to her, I know full well you've done it before. You just won't do it in front of anyone but Sapphi, will you?" Grace remarks, a little amused, and Jenna wonders how long it took her former teacher to see right through her.

"Just have a think about it," Grace repeats. "You could do it, you know. I know you could."

The rest of the week passes by rather quickly; to Jenna, at least. True to her word, Grace arrives the following evening to help perfect Sapphira's performance, though this time she doesn't allow Jenna to simply sit and watch, making her help with making the corrections instead. Jenna can tell that she's preparing to allow her to spread her wings and do this solo next week, that much is perfectly obvious.

It should make her nervous, but it doesn't. Not really. She feels as though she's finally found something that can penetrate the surface of this strange unhappy state that's come over her of late and remind her how it feels to be alive again.

There's nothing more rewarding than watching Sapphira pull off her choreography, nothing besides doing it alongside her herself. Dancing in her bedroom doesn't allow her the space to move that a dance studio does; she hasn't been able to dance this freely, this expressively, since her final dance lesson at Tower Dance Studios before she felt she had no option but to leave back when she was seventeen. It feels as though she's rediscovered a long-lost piece of her very soul, all of her troubles paled into insignificance just for those few moments in which she's dancing.

Nothing else matters while she's dancing. How could she possibly worry about how hideously fat she is when she feels so light and weightless, just for those few moments?

She heads round to Oscar's that Friday night, the second in a row now. He was clearly desperate to see her when she spoke to him on the phone on Wednesday, and in the end she had given in, promised him that provided Sapphira was stage-ready by six pm on Friday and the both of them were feeling reasonably confident and prepared, she would come round to his again.

Jenna is looking forward to it by the time Friday night comes around, looking forward to seeing Oscar, spending time with him. She's not staying the night though, not this time; she's already made that perfectly clear, even though she can't quite explain why the idea isn't particularly appealing to her this week. She's told Oscar that she'll be needed at work earlier this week and she'd rather sleep in her own bed. Initially she had been a little concerned as to how he might take it, though thankfully her boyfriend had been rather accepting, if a little disappointed. He even invites her round only for drinks; no logistical nightmare involving food avoidance like when Matt asked her over to his earlier in the week, thank god.

She's not drinking a lot though, she warns Oscar Robson of that right from the moment she enters his flat. The last thing she needs is a hangover tomorrow morning.

It's all going rather well until Jenna declares it's probably about time she gets going, around ten thirty. It's been a lovely evening, really; they've just chatted, curled up against each other on the sofa in the far corner of Oscar's living room.

Right up until the moment she gets to her feet, and suddenly everything changes. "I'd better get going," Jenna tells Oscar somewhat apologetically. "Early start tomorrow."

"Oh come on, stay for one more drink," Oscar tries, refilling Jenna's wine glass and picking it up by the rim, his palm opening out over the top of the glass. He holds it out to her with one hand, reaches to grab her wrist with his free hand, attempting to stop her from leaving. "One more drink, please?"

"I really can't, I'm driving," Jenna tells him, a little more firmly this time. "Sorry. I'll see you soon, yeah?"

She's barely made it two steps towards him in order to say goodbye before he grasps her roughly by the shoulders and slams her back against the wall.

"Fine," he whispers lowly, a terrifying depth to his tone that begins to stir something deep within her subconscious. "Have it your way."

She begins to open her mouth but that only causes him to push her sideways, falling heavily down onto his living room floor. Within seconds he's on top of her, pinning her down, one hand grasping her wrists and pushing them down above her head, his other hand clamped over her mouth.

"Don't make a sound," he threatens her lowly. "Don't you dare. This is your fault, I offered to make it easier for you and you turned me down. Scream and I swear I'll make it hurt more, you understand? You understand?" he repeats, voice a little more threatening this time, and Jenna can feel her breathing quickening, fear rising within her as she nods frantically. She doesn't understand... he was fine... he's never turned on her like this before, she doesn't understand why he's so desperate for her not to leave just yet that he's willing to scare her like this. She doesn't understand, it just doesn't make sense...

"Good," Oscar breathes; agonisingly slowly, he peels his hand away from her mouth, testing her. "Good girl. You keep quiet and nothing happens you won't be able to hide tomorrow night, OK?" he offers, laying down the ground rules.

She just nods blindly, unable to find the words to reply. She's confused, terrified, doesn't know what to make of this sudden turn of events, her mind threatening to go into meltdown as she struggles to make sense of it all.

She doesn't understand; she just doesn't understand. She doesn't understand what she's done to cause him to suddenly turn on her like he has.

"Good. That way we both get what we want," he smiles softly, so casual about all this that it's unsettling, that trying to keep calm and hoping he'll snap out of it any second is becoming harder and harder.

A few moments later his weight shifts until he's no longer pressing down on her, and for a few brief, horribly naïve moments, Jenna wonders if he's snapped out of it, if any moment now he's going to let her go and apologise for scaring her. And then his hands are on the waistband of her leggings, tugging down roughly until her legs are exposed, his hands then moving to her dress, pushing it up until it bunches at her ribcage, jerking her upright and pulling it over her head before letting go, and she's so shocked and disorientated that she forgets to hold herself up, collapsing back down hard onto his living room floor. He manipulates her as though she's a rag doll, as though contorting her swiftly and sharply isn't going to hurt her.

She's too afraid by now to tell him that it really, really does.

Something glistens alarmingly just in the farthest corner of her vision, and she strains to make it out, now even more anxious than she was before. Suddenly an awful lot is beginning to make horrible, sickening sense.

It's only when something sharp is pressed softly against her hipbone, not quite with enough force to penetrate her skin, that her suspicions are confirmed.

"Does that hurt?" he asks her in that same low, subdued tone, transferring more of his weight onto the handle of the knife.

Jenna resists the urge to gasp in pain; she can't quite work out whether telling him yes is going to do something to convince him to stop, or turn on whatever sick fetish he has even further.

"How about this?" He shifts his positioning, and all of a sudden a harsh, shooting pain surges through her body, and she can't quite fight the urge to cry out any longer.

"Quiet," he breathes, running the knife vertically down her belly, just skimming the surface of her still-healing incision, just enough pressure to knock it open. "You deserve this. You had it coming. Don't even think about fighting back or you won't be going anywhere tomorrow, I promise you that."


	33. Chapter 33

**Sorry about the delay- I was planning on updating the day after _that chapter_ but freshers flu hit so it's taken me a bit longer. There's more Matt in this one though :) And Mirjam's secret will be revealed in the next chapter, so now is your last chance to register your guesses ;) As no one's got it completely yet I'll give you three clues:**

**1) think about the orgins of both parts of her name**

**2)bearing that in mind, think about geographical locations**

**3) think about what her older two children are both good at**

**Anyone got it? ;) **

**Thank you once again to all my wonderful reviewers, we're getting closer and closer to those first three chapters now and that's all thanks to your support. Runyoucleverboy-remember, An Angels Tear, SavetheDaleks, What a day we had, Planet of the Deaf, AftShID, Hilary Weston, Finchel4everbelieveinthetether, PartyintheTardis12, The twenty third of november, I am Clara Oswald, soufflewhouffle, proellusionist, guest, guest, pointeofdance, le master procastinator, librarykate (I agree, he's well and truly lost the plot; hold that thought... ;) ), guest, ammyz1, guest, spartaness, dreamingofimpossiblethings, remembermewhen, windgirl20, lilliascraven and vivaciousreader, you lot are seriously amazing. Travellingtardis I'm behind on reading at the moment but planning a catch up session this weekend, so I PROMISE you will have that list of recommendations next chapter! Sorry anyone who felt the ending of the last one was quite unsettling, I thought I'd dropped enough clues that something was going on, perhaps I didn't. I can promise you it's not going to get any more violent than that in terms of what I write, and it's not going to be a regular occurrence in these chapters. **

**I'll try and update again Monday/Tuesday if you leave me lots of nice reviews :P **

**Chapter 33**

_'Everything is clear when you're inside the tornado,_

_Everything is quiet in the eye of the storm,_

_I will give you wings if you hang onto my halo, _

_Nothing is stable inside the tornado.'_

_Inside the Tornado, Amanda Marshall_

"You're shaking," Sapphira observes as Jenna does her hair, frowning a little, her face a picture of concern. "Are you alright?" It's roughly half an hour before the start of the fourth live show and the two of them are currently in Jenna's dressing room; Jenna has smuggled Sapphira in to sort her hair out after hair and makeup have left her hair down, _again _(Jenna has tried telling them that perhaps hair up might be more appropriate for dancing but the message doesn't seem to be getting through, so this week, as choreographer and mentor all rolled into one, she's taking matters into her own hands).

"Course," Jenna insists, smiling as brightly as she can force. "I'm fine, you're imagining things."

"No I'm not," Sapphira says firmly, frowning. "I'm definitely not. Are you sure you're OK?" she asks again, tilting her head, watching Jenna closely in the mirror.

"Positive," Jenna tells her, more adamantly this time, tilting Sapphira's head back until it's straight, pinning her hair down to the back of her head. "It's nothing you need to worry about, OK? Forget about it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yep. Forget about it Sapphi, honestly, it's nothing," Jenna insists again. "Don't worry. Right, so you're on third today, I'll leave you backstage before the show starts and I'll try and escape a few minutes early before your acting piece and we'll run through it again, OK? But you're fine; all you need to do is exactly what you did earlier and you'll be fine, I promise. Be confident, you've got this. And your dancing, you're doing brilliantly at that."

"That's because your choreography's easier to remember than Grace's."

Jenna laughs, in spite of everything. "I'm not sure if that's a compliment or not, you know."

"Compliment, yours is easier to remember because it flows better."

"Well in that case, thank you. But Sapphi, you remember what we agreed, don't you? When John and Freema come over afterwards, you absolutely do not under any circumstances say that I choreographed your dance, OK? If they ask, and they won't, then you tell them Grace did. We're keeping that I did the choreography our secret, you promise?"

Sapphira shrugs, her expression curiously mature in that moment. "If you don't want anyone to know, I'm not going to tell anyone," she says simply.

"Thank you," Jenna tells her gratefully. "Right, come on then, you need to warm up."

Matt watches her strangely when they're stood backstage watching for the show to start; it's just the two of them again, no sign of David and Billie just yet. They seem to be making a habit of this, the two of them: turning up early.

"Are you alright?" he asks, voice laced with concern, even more so than on previous occasions. "Jen?" he calls worriedly when she takes a moment to respond, peering down at her. "Jenna? You OK?"

"Hmm?" she jumps, startled out of the trance-like state which seems to have momentarily overcome her. She feels as though she's been somewhere else today, hardly able to concentrate on anything at all. "I'm fine."

"No you're not," Matt says worriedly, reaching for her hands, taking them gently in his. "You're not alright, you're shaking. What's wrong?" he asks, his tone suddenly gentle and caring, his hands massaging hers gently in his own. "Jenna?"

It's only as he utters her name so softly that the façade she's been trying so hard to keep up all day cracks, and before she can stop herself, much to her embarrassment, her eyes are glazing over.

Matt fails miserably to hide his alarm, although, in his defence, he recovers from his initial shock at her breaking down rather quickly. "Hey, don't cry," he soothes her, letting go of her hands, one arm wrapped around her waist as he pulls her in close, his free hand gently stroking her hair, pressing her head to his chest. "Shhh, it's OK. Lucky we got here early really, isn't it?" he says lightly, attempting to make her laugh but triggering no response.

Jenna is far too anxious by now for attempts at light humour. She's been keeping this new fear to herself all day, hasn't yet breathed a word about it to anyone, and now, all of a sudden, it's just become too much to cope with.

"Are people staring?" Jenna whispers worriedly, burying her face in Matt's chest. She doesn't care, not right now; she doesn't care if she's taking things too far or not. She just wants his comfort.

"Not yet, it's still early, not many people here," Matt assures her, his hand rubbing gentle circles on her back. "You're not OK, are you?" he says worriedly. "Come on, shall we go somewhere more private?"

She shakes her head firmly, a little frantically. "No. No, there isn't time..."

"That doesn't matter," Matt insists. "You're more important than some stupid reality show, Jen, you're not going out there like this..."

"No! No, I can't..."

Matt sighs, pulling away from her slowly, arms still wrapped round her tightly. "You can't go out there like this," he says again, more gently this time. "I'm not letting you go out there upset."

Jenna shakes her head, anxious. "Can't we deal with this later?" she asks. "I can't... I'm going to end up missing the whole thing if... if..."

"If what?" Matt presses. "Jen? What's wrong?"

"I..." she stammers, not quite knowing where to start. How much does she dare tell Matt; how much can she risk revealing without everything falling apart? She's afraid to tell him, afraid that the world is only going to become even harder to cope with if she tells him all that racing through her mind at the moment. "I think... I... I think I... that operation I had a few weeks ago?" she asks him, trying to work out how on earth she's going to manage to explain this.

"Yep." He holds her tighter at that, hands laced around the small of her back, supporting her. "Come on, tell me. It's OK."

"I think I might have an infection," she says faintly, nervously.

"In your surgery wound? Right, come on, I'm taking you to hospital," Matt says firmly. He attempts to take her hand and pull her down the corridor with him but she resists, shaking her head firmly.

"Matt, we can't, we can't just disappear," Jenna insists, wiping at her eyes. "I'm fine for now, honestly. Let's just get through tonight and I promise I'll get myself checked out later, yeah?"

Matt shakes his head, his own expression now rather anxious. "Have you heard yourself?" he asks her worriedly. "Jenna, you've just told me you think your wound's infected, for god's sake; how can you expect me to let you go out there and act like there's nothing wrong?"

"Because I'm fine for now!" Jenna tries to convince him. "I'm fine, it doesn't hurt, it's more unpleasant knowing it shouldn't be like that, if that makes any sense. I'll be fine until this is over and after that I'll get checked over properly, I promise. Come on, Matt, you know it makes sense," she pleads, a little desperate. She can't disappear tonight and leave Sapphira to perform all by herself with no one in the audience to cheer her on, she just can't. She'll seek medical attention later, do whatever she needs to do; she's accepted that this time she can't struggle on by herself and hope everything will somehow resolve itself. But Jenna is adamant that she won't be going anywhere until she's seen Sapphira through her dance and acting scene, until she's held her hand through the results show and taken her home again afterwards. She refuses to put herself first ahead of Sapphi; she point-blank, stubbornly refuses.

Matt sighs, his expression conflicted. He's not happy with her proposed solution, Jenna can tell that much. She just has to hope that he sees where she's coming from, realises that the both of them disappearing for the majority, if not the entirety, of the fourth live show, isn't really an option.

"Fine," he groans; it's perfectly obvious from the unsettled look on his face that he's not particularly happy with this plan, but simply doesn't want to waste any more time arguing with her. "Fine, if you're sure you'll be OK. But I'm taking you straight to hospital the moment this is over, no arguments. And if at any point you start to feel worse, you tell me, OK? Promise me."

"I promise," Jenna tells Matt sincerely, letting out a soft sigh of relief. She's convinced him, she realises, she's somehow managed to convince him she'll be fine for the duration of the evening.

And then she realises what she's forgotten, and suddenly Jenna doesn't feel quite so relieved after all.

She promised Mirjam Hoxha she'd take Sapphira home tonight.

There's no way she's going to be able to do that without revealing to Matt she's been taking Sapphira home, off the record, for some time now.

"Matt, you don't want to be ferrying me around once all this is over, we finish late enough as it is," Jenna tries carefully, watching Matt's face for a reaction. "I mean, I feel absolutely fine, there's no reason I couldn't just take myself to..."

Matt shakes his head firmly, interrupting her. "No," he says adamantly. "No, there's absolutely no way you're going by yourself. Either I come with you or I phone someone else and get them to pick you up, which one is it going to be?"

It's not really a choice. The options are either Matt, or one of her flatmates, and at this moment in time Matt is the only one of those options she feels close enough to that she's willing to let him see her exposed, as exposed as she can possibly allow herself to become, anyway. Plus he's the one who's most familiar with Sapphira's detached mother, the one she trusts the most not to say anything to anyone else, to keep her secret. And he comes with the added bonus of not living with her; he won't have the chance to watch her carefully tomorrow, analysing and over-analysing her every move, making a fuss of her.

She doesn't want anyone to make a fuss of her; that's quite possibly her worst nightmare. She just wants to deal with whatever it is that's wrong with her and move on, doesn't want to stop and think about how she got this infection.

She wants to push that particular thought as far out of her mind as she possibly can.

"You?" her tone is nervous, a little pleading.

He laughs a little, rolling his eyes, hugging her again.

"Of course I will," he assures her gently, pulling away slightly. "You sure about this?"

She nods firmly, then pauses, a little worriedly. "Do I look like I've been crying?"

Matt extends one hand out to run the back of his thumb under her right eye, before pulling away, nodding. "You're fine," he promises. "You look fine. Lovely, in fact. No one would ever know, so don't worry, OK?"

She survives the next few hours. It's not easy, but she survives. Somehow Jenna seems to discover a new source of energy within her; she realises that she's going to have to hold herself together if she wants to make it through the evening for Sapphira's sake (and she _has_ to make it through the evening for Sapphira's sake, that one isn't an option).

She lied to Matt, of course. She was lying through her teeth when she told him it didn't really hurt.

But then a part of her wonders if he already knows that.

It's more important than ever this week that she's here, Jenna tells herself, because this week she isn't just the only person Sapphi has rehearsed her acting scene with, she's also the only other person who knows her dance choreography, the only one able to subtly hint at what's coming next if she starts to look lost. She's all that Sapphira has tonight, perhaps in more ways than one. And she refuses to allow Oscar Robson and his sick knife obsession to stop her from being there for her.

Tonight, thankfully, it seems to be enough for Sapphi just to know that Jenna is there. She doesn't look to her for reassurance while she's dancing onstage, doesn't seem to need to. She takes matters into her own hands and dances with confidence, pulls off her routine rather spectacularly. Plus she ends up being the one out of the two of them taking the lead in their acting piece; as pleased as she is that Sapphira copes so well, she rather hopes that Steven and the producers fail to notice how lacking her own performance is. She simply can't find the energy to through her heart and soul into it, not tonight.

It feels as though hours go by before she's finally stood on the stage with Sapphi, clutching each other's hands tightly as they wait for John and Freema to announce the results. And the moment Sapphira's name is read out and she's through safely to week a fresh wave of exhaustion begins to wash over Jenna, as though she's been holding herself together for this moment and now it's over there's nothing to stop her giving in to the pain aching through her body and curl up in a ball and sleep, just sleep and hope she'll miraculously feel better when she awakes.

Except her job for the evening isn't quite done yet, Jenna realises just in time. She's still got to take Sapphi home (and work out how on earth she's going to explain that one to Matt) and put on a brave face while he takes her to hospital. She's determined that he can't find out how much pain she's in, that he can't know why. She's too ashamed for him to ever know why.

She doesn't understand, Jenna sighs to herself hopelessly as she changes back out of her dress for the evening once the BBC3 follow up show is over, once they're finally free to leave and she knows full well she's going to have to face the music, so to speak. She just doesn't understand. She doesn't understand what she's done to deserve this, doesn't understand why Oscar feels the need to hurt her, to humiliate her. She can't for the life of her work out what she's done wrong and for that reason she's far too afraid to confide in anyone, even in Matt. What if the answer is staring her in the face; what if it's perfectly obvious to everyone around her exactly what she's done to cause Oscar to retaliate? The last thing she wants to do is humiliate herself even further.

She's just going to have to come up with an alternative, yet realistic explanation as to how her wound has become infected and pull it off like she's never pulled off any other part before. She simply doesn't have any other choice.

"So you and Matt are both taking me home?" Sapphira asks sleepily from the sofa in the corner of Jenna's dressing room, stretching her legs out above her head.

"Yep," Jenna confirms. "Yep, but you're to mention nothing about how we do this every week, Sapphi, you understand? Not a sensible idea."

"Because you're not really meant to be doing it?"

"Exactly. Right, here's the plan: I'll go out first and explain to Matt we're going via your house, then I'll come back for you in a couple of minutes, OK?"

Sapphira frowns. "So Matt doesn't know he has to come with you to take me home?"

"No, not yet, but he won't mind," Jenna insists brightly. "I promise he won't mind. I'll just have to explain it to him first to make sure he isn't going to tell anyone."

"So he will definitely say yes?"

"Oh Sapphi, I'm not going to leave you here by yourself if that's what you're worried about," Jenna tells her gently. "I promise. Just let me talk to Matt and then I'll take you home, OK?"

"OK." Sapphira nods, closing her eyes. "Is Matt your boyfriend?" she asks, only half awake.

"What?" Jenna laughs. "No he most certainly is not; he's just a friend, Sapphi."

"Then why is he going home with you?"

"He's not, he's just..." Jenna trails off, not quite sure how best to go about explaining this. "he's just coming somewhere with me Sapphi, that's all. It's nothing to worry about, OK?"

"Like a party?"

"Yep, like a party." Maybe that will make the next few hours a little more bearable; maybe she needs to take Sapphira's advice and attempt to think of Accident and Emergency as one great big party.

Then again, maybe not.

Jenna slips out of her dressing room and back into the corridor nervously, finding herself face to face with Matt, already waiting for her.

"Alright?" he asks her worriedly, his arm around her shoulders. "Ready to go?"

Jenna nods, bracing herself. "Umm, Matt," she begins, not entirely sure if this approach is the best way of going about this or not. "We're going to have to go via Hackney first, if you don't mind. I told Sapphi's mum I'd take her home tonight," she explains when Matt gives her a strange look, thoroughly confused.

"Why?" Matt asks, frowning. "Isn't she here?"

Jenna sighs wearily. "She hasn't come to watch any of the live shows," she admits at last. Sapphi's older sister came for the first two weeks, but that was before she was arrested. No one's come for the past two weeks now."

Matt is silent for a few moments, seemingly absorbing this new information. "Poor kid," he sighs. "So the mother asked you to take her daughter home after the live shows?"

"No, I volunteered," Jenna corrects him firmly. "Mirjam- the mother- she works nights, I think."

"And that doesn't sound dodgy," Matt remarks sarcastically. "Do you know what she does?"

"No, I don't," Jenna admits. "But I'm sure it's nothing... you know... she's got two young children, remember."

"And she's got a third child in foster care," Matt points out.

"I know, I know," Jenna sighs. "I know. But it's not Sapphi's fault."

"No, I know that, that's not what I'm saying at all," Matt insists. "I just mean..." he sighs. "Don't let the mother take advantage of you, Jen."

"I'm not," she promises. "I won't. Right, come on, if you're coming with me we need to get Sapphi home."

"And then we need to get you to hospital," Matt reminds her firmly. "Or I'm going to worry about you."

"I told you, I'm fine," Jenna insists. "It doesn't hurt, it just doesn't look particularly nice."

"Yep, too much information!" Matt tells her. "Go on, go and get Sapphira, the sooner we get you to hospital the better."

It's another half hour before they've dropped Sapphira home and handed her over to Mirjam Hoxha (who appears rather furtive when she opens the door, but Jenna tries not to think about that too much), another twenty minutes before they arrive at the hospital and almost an hour after that before Jenna finally makes it through to be seen. Although almost an hour isn't too bad in the general scheme of A and E; Jenna wonders whether Matt's protective stance when they arrived had anything to do with that. She's not as bad as he seems to be convinced she is, she reassures herself; she's absolutely fine. She has a minor infection, that's all. She's absolutely fine.

The doctor she eventually sees isn't quite so convinced. Thankfully, Matt had remained in the waiting room when her name was called out, or Jenna seriously doubts he would have let her out of his sight for the next year, the way he's been around her this evening.

She wants to know exactly how it happened, the doctor examining her tells her gently. Thank god her operation was done privately and she can't look up Jenna's notes and realise she's failed to show up for all of her follow up appointments since her hysterectomy.

Jenna tells her doctor she scratched it open subconsciously. She's thought about this, checked her story would be credible as she was changing out of her dress from the live show back in her dressing room. In Oscar's defence, he didn't do an awful lot of damage, not with the knife, just skimming the surface of her surgery wound. If only he'd bothered to sterilise the knife, she might just have been able to treat it herself with plasters and left it at that.

The doctor gives her a strange, sceptical look, but goes along with it all the same, telling Jenna that her suspicions are correct, that she has got an infection, that she's lucky she came in when she did, lucky it's not worse. She prescribes her a course of antibiotics, pushes some tablets towards her and applies another dressing, telling Jenna that she's to keep changing the dressing until the infection clears up, that she's not to leave it off under any circumstances. And then she sends the A and E nurses out of the room and closes the door, lowering her voice, suddenly gentle, worried.

"Jenna," she says carefully. "Jenna, are you sure this was an accident? Because you're safe here; you can tell me if there's something else going on here. Is someone hurting you, Jenna?" she asks, and Jenna has to fight back the urge to shudder.

She shakes her head firmly, yet not too firmly, attempting to come across as natural as she possibly can, imagining this is just another scene she's acting out; not her life, she doesn't want to admit even to herself that this complicated, depressing mess is her reality. "No," she insists. "No, of course not. I told you, I scratched it open by myself, that's all. It was an accident."

"OK, if you're sure," the doctor says carefully. "Now there's just one more thing- did you lose a lot of weight after your operation?" she asks. "It's just your weight's a little lower than I'd like; your BMI's just into the underweight category..."

Lies. Jenna knows full well it is. BMI isn't always an effective indicator of being overweight or underweight; she remembers reading that during her obsessive google searching. A person can be obese according to their BMI measurement but in reality perfectly healthy and just with a higher muscle density than body mass index accounts for. Surely that means someone's BMI can come out as underweight, when in reality they're overweight? It's the only explanation, Jenna concludes; the only way in which things could possibly make any sense.

She doesn't care what the doctor's BMI charts dictate. How can she, when every time she looks in the mirror she sees a fat, ugly reflection staring back at her, still, even after all this weight she's lost?

And yet at the same time, something deep within Jenna knows full well that she can't possibly reveal all that to her doctor.

"I think so," she says vaguely, doing her best to sound convincing. "I think I've put some back on since then." That last sentence is quite possibly the biggest lie she's told all year.

"OK, as long as you're aware of it." This is the point, Jenna knows, when the hospital will start bringing out the BMI charts, start lecturing her about nutrition, and she will nod along as though she's listening.

She can't listen. Not when she knows what they're saying isn't true.

The doctor means well, she's sure of that, but she's concentrating purely on the statistics, not the information she sees in front of her.

She must be.

It's the only explanation that makes any sense.


	34. Chapter 34

**So this is the one you've been waiting for, Mirjam's secret revealed... It took me 5 hours to write this one, the italics took most of that, you'll see why when you get to them- they took a lot of fact checking! The information in the middle comes from a variety of sources I've read over the past year or so, though if you're interested, Brian Hall's book 'Impossible Country' is probably a good place to start. If you'd like any more reading/documentary recommendations, feel free to PM me. A lot of you thought Mirjam was German, while it is used in Germany it's also used elsewhere... ;) **

**Huge hugs to LilliasCraven, GreenAdventurer, guest, flika10, Planet of the Deaf, only-the-sassiest, memorialfantasy, AftShID, vivaciousreader, proellusionist, debbieee, dreamingofimpossiblethings, savemecleverboy, The Twenty Third Of November, What a Day We Had, Partyinthetardis12, I am Clara Oswald, Boxing101, Humbug, finchel4everbelieveinthetether, runyoucleverboy-remember, Remembermewhen, HilaryWeston and whoufflemysouffle, you lot are just the best and you never fail to make me smile. Thank you, so much, for all your wonderful support.**

**There's quite a lot of Matt in the next chapter, so do let me know if you want it :P **

**Chapter 34**

The next two weeks seem to pass by in something of a blur.

Her infection clears up. She completes her course of antibiotics and removes the dressing from her abdomen, deletes Oscar Robson's number from her phone. Perhaps she's not thinking particularly clearly at the moment, perhaps she's in something of a state of denial as to other problems in her life she's failing to confront, but she hasn't lost the plot completely.

She knows full well that what Oscar Robson did to her that night wasn't right, and so she keeps away from him, for those two weeks. She keeps away from everyone, in all honesty, as much as she possibly can. She doesn't know what to say to the world anymore, doesn't know how to make sense of it all, and so she keeps away from everyone.

Everyone but Sapphi.

It's her and Sapphi against the world for the next two weeks, inside Jenna's head amidst all the confusion, at least. There's only one place in the world that can offer her sanctuary throughout those two weeks, only one place she feels truly safe, truly happy, and that's in the dance studio with Sapphi.

To Jenna, the fact that being Sapphi's newly appointed chief choreographer and dance teacher means rather a lot of exercise while demonstrating what she wants her to do next is just an added bonus.

Spending hours upon hours of those two weeks dancing alongside Sapphi doesn't actually help with weight loss, of course; muscle weighs more than fat, as her copious google searches have informed her, dancing isn't going to help her lose any more weight. That said, it is going to help her lose fat.

At this stage in proceedings, it isn't even about weight so much anymore. Weight is an element of it, but it's not the main cause of her distress.

As long as she can see physical evidence of losing fat in the mirror, she can live with still weighing the same as she did two weeks ago.

If anything, it might be an advantage, Jenna decides. If, god forbid, she ends up back at that hospital at any point in the future, it will keep the doctors with their BMI charts off her back.

She pushes Sapphira harder over the course of those two weeks. She knows she can do it now; after Sapphi pulls off _Titanium_ and _Inside the Tornado_ two weeks in a row despite the harder choreography, she knows full well that she's capable. There's a spark about her dancing now her technique is improving, a spark that can't be learned, something inexplicable.

Even Matt, who knows very little about dancing besides what he must have picked up from watching his older sister as a child, comments on it when he sticks his head around the dance studio door (thankfully he chooses to do it on a Friday night, when Sapphi is dancing solo and Jenna herself is sat against the wall watching her).

"She's a natural, isn't she?" he comments quietly, watching as Sapphi continues dancing despite their quiet chatting in the corner. It's week five and Jenna has given her contemporary again, upbeat, cheerful contemporary this time. "She's got something special, even I can tell that much. It's like she was born to be a dancer."

"She's got a way of making it look effortless," Jenna agrees. "Her technique isn't brilliant yet, but it'll come- Sapphira, back foot, you're not doing ballet!" she calls, watching intently as Sapphira forward rolls out of her arabesque. "That's better, keep it like that! Sorry, where were we?" she asks, turning back to Matt.

"You must have been pretty good once to be able to correct her, I wouldn't have spotted that," Matt remarks.

Jenna laughs. "Just because I can notice what she's doing wrong, doesn't mean I was ever any good," she insists. "Sapphi does all the hard work, not me."

She still won't tell anyone that she's taken over the role of choreographer and teacher. Jenna can't quite explain why not; because she doesn't want anyone to know she's been dancing, she supposes, because she's afraid to have anyone see her dance. She's completely and utterly convinced by now that she's far too fat and disgusting to be dancing, that no one would possibly be able to watch her without having to supress laughter, even if they tried their hardest to be polite. It's got to the stage at which when she's dancing with Sapphira she has to ensure her eyes never leave Sapphira's reflection; she knows if she begins to watch herself, focusing on her own reflection, she'll hit breaking point.

It makes working out choreography before teaching it to Sapphi a nightmare; it's part of the reason choreography is something of a joint effort. Jenna will choose the music and plan the choreography out in her head, put it together for the first time in front of Sapphi and have her copy alongside her right from the start, changing parts and working things out as they go along, That way, Jenna never has to focus too much on her own body, her own reflection.

That said, she does still dance by herself; the simple truth is that it makes her happy. Dancing with Sapphi makes her just as happy, but at the same time Jenna values the hour she spends alone in the dance studio every afternoon before Mirjam Hoxha drops Sapphi off for rehearsals, dancing in front of the one wall without a mirror. Jenna knows the movements well enough after years of practise to know whether or not she's hitting the right positions without having to see herself in a mirror, thankfully. Mirrors are far too traumatic when she's checking her reflection in the morning at the moment; dancing could well be enough to push her over the edge into a full-blown breakdown.

It's not just lyrical, contemporary and ballet she's doing with Sapphira anymore, either. They have a proper system going now; ballet, tap and technique practise on top of just running choreography over and over again. It's paying off by the start of week seven. Sapphi's dancing has come on in leaps and bounds, her flexibility improved, her turnout increased, her turns increasing in difficulty and still looking just as effortless when she performs them.

Her acting is improving too; Jenna hasn't quite yet worked out whether that's thanks to the acting class the producers have organised for the contestants each week, to anything she's managed to do during their rehearsal sessions or something else entirely.

One thing she hasn't failed to notice is that Sapphi isn't quite the same child she first met at the Who's Companion casting workshop. Sapphi had stood out at the beginning, Jenna recalls, because she had a wonderful ability to pull off the deep, emotional scenes like none of the other contestants her age (or older, in fact) could, but her light-hearted, care-free scenes had been a little lacking. Ironically, acting natural had seemed to be far more difficult for her to pull off. Maybe because she had been so serious; it's only now, looking back, that Jenna fully appreciates how deathly serious Sapphi had been at the start of this whole process. In some ways, she still is; she can be a bigger perfectionist than Jenna at times, refusing to give up on anything until she gets it absolutely precise. But there's something of a care-free spirit within her now that wasn't there a few weeks ago, as though she's rediscovered what it means to be a child, as though something or someone has reminded her that she doesn't have to bear the weight of the world on her shoulders, not yet. She's brighter, somehow, she laughs more, she's happier. It's not just when she's dancing, either; she's more talkative outside of rehearsals, when Jenna picks her up on Sunday mornings (strictly off the record, of course) to give her ballet and tap lessons or sort her aerials out, or when Mirjam is hopelessly late to pick her daughter up after an evening rehearsal and Jenna ends up sat with Sapphi in the café across the road from the BBC studios helping her with her spelling homework.

There's a spark within her very soul that wasn't there before, even with the absence of her big sister.

It's not just Sapphira; the both of them seem to come out of their shells, let go of their troubles a little, particularly over the course of those two weeks. They end up doing an awful lot of improvisation to practise new turns and tricks Sapphi is still mastering; it's something both of them would have been terrified of even attempting a few weeks ago. They discover an ability to get lost in the music, to live in the moment and express themselves in a way they would never otherwise dare, relaxed, happy, without a care in the world.

Sapphi, Jenna quickly learns, is possibly more obsessed with Rita Ora than she was with Take That at the same age, maybe a couple of years older. All she has to do is play continuous Rita Ora and Sapphi will quite happily keep practising new combinations for hours.

Quite frankly, she is of the opinion that Take That were far more age appropriate than Rita Ora.

Then again, she wonders whether her mother would agree.

Speaking of her mother, Jenna feels rather guilty when her mum calls her on the Wednesday of week six and points out that it's been over a week since they've last spoken. The two of them have always been close; normally they'll go a couple of days are the very most without at least texting one another, even if Jenna is ridiculously busy.

The honest truth is that Jenna is finding she's far more exhausted than usual by the evenings, that by the time she makes it through the door after a live show or an evening of rehearsing with Sapphi she's well and truly shattered. Jenna doesn't understand why she's constantly so tired, doesn't understand why when she hasn't got Sapphi with her she can't seem to find the energy to do anything.

She tries to sleep as much as possible when she's back at her flat, but Oscar Robson's face haunts her the moment she closes her eyes, and she finds herself lying awake for hours, tossing and turning as much as is comfortable with her now-at last healing surgery wound, afraid of a monster she knows in her rational mind can no longer hurt her.

Sometimes she'll arrive back home after handing Sapphi over to Mirjam Hoxha, a strange aching in her heart, and find her flatmates watching a film on the sofa together. They'll ask her to join them but she'll decline, telling them she's shattered, that she's going to sleep, and then she'll lie restlessly, curled up in her bed, listening sadly to the sounds of their laughter from the living room.

It's not that she doesn't want to join them; she wishes she was in there with her best friends with all her heart. This is something she's always loved about living with her old school friends, the fact that they can have movie nights together and it feels as though they're teenagers again, as though they're still young and carefree and nothing's changed, as though they've never had to grow up.

But Jenna can't bring herself to join them, she simply can't. How could she possibly join them when they sound so lively and cheerful and she's secretly so desperately unhappy?

She can't bring herself to explain all that to her mum, either. She and her mum have always been close; best friends as well as mother and daughter. But she's too worried about upsetting her mum to tell her that she feels as though her life is falling apart. Too worried about causing her distress and far too ashamed.

And so she tells her mum that she's just been so busy, admits that she's been doing rather a lot of work with Sapphi, even if she fails to confess she's been doing all the choreography _and_ the teaching. She knows that while her mum is proud of her she was a little disappointed when she had to give up on dancing, knows that she would love to see her dancing again, even if just within the confines of a studio with Sapphira. But yet again, she simply can't muster the courage. She's convinced she's so fat and un-ballerina-esque that even her own mother would think she looked fat and ugly if she saw her.

So she sends her mum a recording of Sapphi's Rita Ora improvisation instead, and receives a video file back in return. 'Reminds me of you,' her mum entitles the email; Jenna opens the video attachment and is confronted with her eight year old self doing turns and acrobatics around the garden with a hairbrush as a microphone.

She shows it to Sapphira the next day in the café, waiting for Mirjam Hoxha to show up to collect her daughter, and Sapphi watches intently, smiles her innocent seven year old smile and showers her in compliments.

Jenna decides that seven year olds are the best kind of friends to have; they're young enough that investing a little time and effort into them equals constant compliments.

All things considered, everything is going rather well.

Until, that is, Jenna picks up a voicemail from Matt on the Monday morning of week seven.

She must have been in the shower when he attempted to call her, because she emerges from the bathroom to discover his voicemail on her phone.

_'Jen?'_ Jenna can tell merely from his tone as he utters her name at the beginning of the message that there's something wrong_. 'Jen, you haven't seen The Daily Mail this morning, have you? There's something you should probably... no; no, forget that, forget I said anything, don't look, just call me when you get this, yeah? Call me when you get this and we can meet somewhere and talk about it together, OK? But... don't worry; seriously, don't worry, it's not worth worrying about, it's been printed now, there's nothing anyone can do about it, I just thought you should probably... look, just give me a call when you get this.'_

There's something in his tone that worries Jenna, regardless of what he says, something that doesn't quite add up. He tells her not to worry and yet he sounds so... so garbled, somehow, as though he's struggling to work out what to say to her. There's something not quite right, that much is perfectly obvious; there's something badly, badly wrong.

She can't wait to call him and arrange to meet up and talk to find out what's wrong. She's too impatient, too anxious by Matt's frantic tone on her voicemail, unable to wait until he can come to hers or she can make it over to his in order to find out what's happened, what's so bad that he's worried about her seeing it.

How can she possibly wait when Matt has told her exactly where to look?

Under normal circumstances, Jenna stays away from celebrity news websites at all costs, but today is going to have to be the exception to that rule.

Jenna thinks it's going to be about her when she first loads up the website in question. She's completely convinced it's going to be about her, terrified that some lowlife excuse for a journalist will have written an article about how fat and hideous she looked on Saturday night at the Who's Companion live shows. She runs through the dress Hollie the costume designer had put her in on Saturday night in her mind as she scrolls down the list of today's news articles, not entirely sure what she's looking for. Was it too tight? She thought it was. Oh god, what if she looked fat and ugly and huge and nobody told her, what if a journalist has decided they have nothing better to write about, sourced some truly awful unflattering photographs to prove their point and printed an entire article criticising her? It doesn't bear thinking about.

And then she sees what she didn't even realise she was looking for, and Jenna realises that this article, that Matt's obvious panic, isn't about her at all.

**_From world-class rhythmic gymnast to North London prostitute: Who's Companion mother's dirty secret revealed_**

_Six weeks into the live performance shows of BBC1's Who's Companion, young dancer Sapphira Hoxha is tipped as a favourite to make the final of the competition for the role of companion to the doctor in the long running science-fiction series 'Doctor Who'. The seven year old, taught to dance by her older half-sister, has wowed audiences since her first appearance on the show with her rhythmic, American competition-style routines, despite no previous formal dance training. _

_It's not surprising given Sapphira's natural talent that dance sport runs in her family. Her fifteen year old half-sister, London born Sofia Vlasic, is a promising rhythmic gymnast, coming in second in clubs and third in hoop in the under sixteen category of the British Rhythmic Championships earlier this year. _

_But older sister Sofia is not Sapphira's only relative to have competed on the rhythmic gymnastics scene. In a Daily Mail exclusive, we can reveal that Sapphira's mother Mirjam Hoxha, now notorious on the Westmount Estate in Hackney, North London as an exotic dancer and prostitute, was once a rising star of the rhythmic gymnastics world herself. From 1987 to 1991, Mirjam Hoxha competed in international level rhythmic gymnastics under the name of Mirjam Mihailovic for the former Yugoslavia. The former gymnast was left heartbroken when the collapse of the Yugoslav Federation in 1991 ruined her chances of an Olympic gold, and sources close to Hoxha claim she never recovered, the heartache of her shattered dreams leading to a downward spiral into a sleazy underworld of prostitution. _

_A victim of late twentieth century Balkans instability, Hoxha was born in 1973 in Mostar, Herzegovina, then part of the communist former Yugoslavia. The daughter of an Albanian-Serbian mother and an Albanian-Bosniak father, Hoxha and her parents moved back to her parents' childhood home of Pristina, Kosovo, then one of two autonomous regions of Serbia within Yugoslavia. A federation of what is now Slovenia, Croatia, Serbia, Bosnia-Herzegovina, Montenegro, Macedonia, and the newly-independent country of Kosovo, Yugoslavia was a union of different languages, religions, nationalities and cultures, and often prone to racial tensions. _

_But it's Hoxha's home country of Kosovo which was arguably the most unstable region of Yugoslavia, with tensions between the two major nationalities of the former Yugoslav region, Serbians and Kosovar Albanians, continuing to this day. Kosovo declared independence from Serbia in 2008, but is not yet formally recognised as an independent state. Although thought to be outnumbered population-wise by an estimated 82% to 10%, the Serb population consider Kosovo the Heart of Serbia and refuse to acknowledge Kosovo's declared independence. _

_Hoxha was brought up amongst the Albanian community in Kosovo's capital Pristina, trained in rhythmic gymnastics from a young age at a small Albanian-run gymnastics club. Hoxha's mother, Kosovar born Doroteja Mihailovic, had a career as a Yugoslav ballet dancer spanning seven years, while her paternal grandmother, Bosniak Mileca Kovac, is an Olympic silver medallist, competing for Yugoslavia at the 1936 Olympic Games at Berlin. Her aunt, Mostar born Sara Beslagic, worked at a number of popular Yugoslav holiday resorts until the tourist trade died down following the Yugoslav wars of the 1990s, including the resort of Dubrovnik, now a part of Croatia. After beginning to show promise as a rhythmic gymnast, Hoxha's family moved across the border to Belgrade, Serbia in 1982, where Hoxha began training at the prestigious Mila Bogdanovic school of Rhythmic Gymnastics, notorious for producing some of Yugoslavia's most successful rhythmic gymnasts, among them Hoxha's grandmother Mileca Kovac. _

_"Mirjam was lucky," recalls former neighbour Nina Xhepa, who knew the Hoxha family before their move to Belgrade. "Most Albanian families would never have had that option. Even in Kosovo Albanians and Serbians lived separate lives, we kept away from each other. It's been like that for years, long before the collapse of Yugoslavia. Moving to Belgrade was only an option for Mirjam and her family because of their Serbian roots."_

_Afraid of a hostile reaction from the Serbs, while in Belgrade Hoxha's family began using the Serbian name Mihailovic. Bilingual but educated in Albanian, Hoxha was forced to hide her Albanian heritage in order to fit in amongst the Serbs of the Yugoslav capital. Sources close to the Mirjam Hoxha tell stories of attacks on the family home and bullying at school. _

_And yet Hoxha overcame the odds. By the age of fourteen 'Mirjam Mihailovic' was Yugoslavia's under sixteen rhythmic champion in ribbon and ball, tipped for the Yugoslav Olympic team for 1992. She left her high school in Belgrade to focus solely on rhythmic gymnastics shortly after her parents returned to Pristina in 1988, beginning full-time training with the Yugoslav national rhythmic team later that year. By 1989 she was the most successful rhythmic gymnast Yugoslavia had ever produced, bringing home a gold in ribbon and silvers in hoop and clubs from the Yugoslav hosted World Rhythmic Gymnastics Championships, held in Sarajevo, now Bosnia-Herzegovina's capital. _

_It was a proud moment for Hoxha, claims her then close friend and teammate, Serbian-Bosniak Hana Jokic. "Having Bosniak roots, the both of us were so excited to have the opportunity to compete in Sarajevo. Mirjam was thrilled to bring home two medals but it didn't satisfy her, it only made her want more. After Sarajevo she was even more determined than ever to win Yugoslavia's first Olympic gold in rhythmic gymnastics."_

_That hunger for an Olympic gold was to be Hoxha's downfall. With her sights set on the 1992 Barcelona Olympics, Hoxha threw herself into training, but her preparation was interrupted when the Yugoslav Federation collapsed and ethnic conflict erupted once more. Previously a proud Yugoslav, nineteen year old Hoxha found herself lacking any firm ethnic identity within the tattered remains of her country, rejected by Kosovar Albanians because of her Serbian roots and by Kosovar Serbians for being half Albanian. _

_Rejected from the newly-formed Serbian Olympic committee because of her Albanian heritage, Hoxha refused to give up, continuing her training in the newly-independent former Yugoslav state of Slovenia, though she failed to qualify for the Slovenian passport she needed in order to compete for Slovenia in the 1992 Olympics. Three months after Hoxha's beginning training in Slovenia, her parents Biljana and Andrej Hoxha went missing in Pristina, believed to have been killed in a massacre in their Albanian suburb of Kosovo's capital. Sources close to Hoxha at the time reveal she showed a 'worrying lack of grief' at her parents' disappearance, becoming more focused than ever on her rhythmic gymnastics career._

_Hoxha was eventually allowed to compete in the 1992 Olympics as an Independent Olympic Athlete, though by this time her training had suffered profoundly. Far from top of her game and unable to match her Sarajevo performances, Hoxha failed to qualify for the finals at Barcelona. It was a major blow; sources close to the gymnast claim she never recovered. _

_Although Hoxha did obtain Slovenian citizenship in time to compete at the 1996 Olympic Games in Atlanta, United States, two weeks before qualifying she suffered a devastating knee injury and was forced to withdraw. In October 1997 Hoxha had her first child, Sofia, with her then partner ex-Romanian gymnast Alexandru Vlasic, marking the end of her rhythmic gymnastics career. Vlasic returned to Romania shortly after, leaving Hoxha and his daughter behind in London. Sofia entered the foster care system aged six following allegations of neglect and Hoxha, unemployed and desperate, turning to prostitution. She turned down her offered contact hours with her daughter and eventually returned to Slovenia, where her middle daughter, Who's Companion contestant Sapphira, was born in 2005. Sources close to the family have claimed not to know the identity of Sapphira's father. In an exclusive interview, a close friend stated he was abusive and dangerous, with Mirjam Hoxha returning to Slovenia to escape him. Mother and daughter are thought to have returned to the UK in 2010 shortly before the birth of Hoxha's younger daughter, Sienna. It was shortly after, an unemployed single parent living in a council flat on the Westmount Estate in Hackney, North London, that Hoxha returned to prostitution. _

_Since then, Hoxha's activities have become notorious across the estate, much to the distress of other residents. A neighbour, who did not wish to be identified, told us: "she's been doing it for years. We're all sick of her giving our estate a bad name. Many of us have young children and so we have to be careful about allowing them outside in the evenings- there's been indecent behaviour out in the corridors in the past. It's her kids I feel sorry for, they're often in the flat when Mirjam has someone over. We've been trying to get her evicted for months now but it's difficult to come up with any evidence when the police don't want to know."_

_Hoxha's career choice is thought to be the cause of tension with her eldest daughter. Sofia Vlasic was sentenced to six months in a young offenders institute last month, after becoming involved with a notorious North London burglary ring following her own rejection from the Junior British Rhythmic Gymnastics team in August. Vlasic, fifteen, is thought to have been seeing her younger half-sisters Sapphira and Sienna unsupervised, outside of the terms of her mother's contact agreement, often looking after them whilst Hoxha saw her clients. In Vlasic's absence, neighbours now fear for the wellbeing of the children. _

_"It's not fair on the children, putting them through that," commented Hoxha's neighbour. "The poor kids must be aware of what's going on. It's probably a blessing that Sapphira's involved with Who's Companion at the moment, otherwise she'd be stuck in that flat with her mother. Not that Mirjam's bothered to show up and watch, of course."_

_The absence of Sapphira Hoxha's family from the BBC1 talent competition live shows has been confirmed by a member of the show's backstage crew. "No one ever turns up for Sapphira," our source revealed. "Her older sister came for the first week or so, but since she was arrested no one's turned up for her. It's sad, really, contestants are given a set number of tickets for family and friends each week, most week all the other seats reserved for contestants families are full. The poor kid must have noticed."_

_This behaviour isn't out of character for Hoxha, who lost her elder daughter Sofia to social services after allegations of neglect. It is not known whether concerns have ever been expressed regarding Sapphira and her younger sister Sienna's wellbeing. _

_"It's a real shame," said Hana Jokic, Hoxha's former teammate during her years competing for the former Yugoslavia. "The Mirjam I knew would never have gotten herself involved with prostitution, no matter how desperate she was. She certainly wouldn't have neglected her children. I think her failure to achieve her dreams at the Olympics must have scarred her more than anyone realised, on top of her parents' death. It's so sad. Mirjam would have made a brilliant mother when I knew her."_

* * *

**So who saw that coming? ;) If you want any more information on the former Yugoslavia then wikipedia is probably a good place to start, after that I really can't recommend 'Impossible Country' by Brian Hall enough. **

**As a final note, I was asked by a reviewer a couple of chapters ago for a list of any fics on here I recommend. Sadly I don't get to read on here as much as I'd like to, but these are some I'm really enjoying at the moment:**

_**Waiting for you, The Twenty Third of November**_

_**Adventures in Sleepwalking, Kleioverity**_

_**Broken, LilliasCraven**_

_**With Fragile Promises, CountingAllTheStars**_

**That said I am still behind at the moment, so there are probably lots more I'm going to love when I get the chance to catch up on them! **


	35. Chapter 35

**Right, so this is the chapter before all the drama kicks off, just a warning. The drama in the last chapter was just the beginning, you've got no idea ;) ****You might be able to guess from this one what the drama is going to be, do let me know if you think you've got it. The clues are all in there, and there might be a few clues in chapter 1 and chapter 3 you haven't picked up on until now... ;)**

**Thanks so much all my wonderful reviewers for all your support so far: what a day we had, Finchel4everbelieveinthetether, The Twenty Third of November, guest, Remembermewhen, pointeofdance, runyoucleverboy-remember, I am Clara Oswald, Hilary Weston, proellusionist, whofflemysouffle, only-the-sassiest, souffles-and-bowties, memorialfantasy, filka10, librarykate, vivaciousreader, themadmanhopes, Planet of the Deaf, McKenzieAnne, travellingtardis, Catherine (aww thank you so much :) ), Lilliascraven, Amber, Amy and savethedaleks. You lot are absolutely awesome and I honestly couldn't write this without you. **

**As ever, reviews would be amazing, and if you've got a free moment I'd love it if you could have a look at the oneshot I published yesterday, 'For You I Will' :) **

**Chapter 35**

"I take it you've already seen it?" Matt guesses as he flops down next to Jenna on his sofa, holding out a mug of peppermint tea. They had settled for Matt's flat as a meeting place in the end, deciding that somewhere private was most likely the best option.

"Sorry, I couldn't help myself," Jenna confesses, reaching out to accept the mug from him. "Thanks."

"And?"

"And that's got to be one of the worst cases of Daily Fail stalker syndrome I've ever seen," Jenna groans. "Where the hell did they get all of that information from?! They even managed to interview people Mirjam knew in Yugoslavia, for god's sake, how the hell did they manage to get in contact with them?"

"I think someone must have recognised her," Matt sighs.

"Hmm?" Jenna frowns. "How could anyone have recognised her when she doesn't even bother turning up to the live shows?"

"You read the article online, didn't you?" Matt realises. "You haven't seen the pictures if you've read it online." He pushes a copy of the newspaper towards her across the table.

"Oh for god's sake, front page?" Jenna realises. "Have these people got nothing better to do with their lives...?" She trails off, confronted by two photos, only one of them familiar and yet the other strangely similar.

The first is Sapphi, up in a Mexican stand, feet down in front of her head, smiling, taken from her dance on Who's Companion two days ago. She was so proud of getting that right, Jenna remembers, it had taken her weeks to build up the flexibility to get her feet all the way over.

The second picture is so similar that it takes Jenna a few moments longer than it should to realise she's never seen it before.

It's a young woman- a teenager, really- poised in a Mexican stand, legs over her head, clubs balanced between her feet. She is every inch an older version of Sapphi; the same long, dark hair, the same wide brown eyes, the same smile of relief and concentration, even her legs at the same angle over her head.

'Mirjam Hoxha', reads the caption below the second picture. 'Then competing under the name of Mirjam Mihailovic. Clubs champion, World Rhythmic Gymnastics Championships 1989, Sarajevo.'

"The similarities are uncanny, aren't they?" Matt remarks. "You see what I mean? I reckon someone must have remembered Mirjam from her rhythmic gymnastics days- it was all televised and she was hugely successful at the World Championships in Sarajevo, there must be people who remember watching her then and thought Sapphi seemed familiar. It only takes one person to put two and two together, and then, say, the neighbours find out. They seem pretty hell bent on getting Mirjam evicted; they start spilling her dirty secrets, someone looks up her former teammates and manages to speak to someone over the phone... you get the picture. Those journalists must have thought Christmas had come early."

"You're not making me feel any better, Matt," Jenna sighs. "Oh god, do you think she's seen this?"

"Judging by the tone of that article, I would imagine a neighbour must have pushed a copy through Mirjam's letterbox by now, I'm sure she'll have got the message," Matt reasons dryly.

"I'm not talking about Mirjam, I'm talking about Sapphi."

"Ah," Matt sighs. "Possibly. Poor kid." He pauses, as though attempting to work out what on earth he can say to try and make this any easier for Jenna to process. "At least... I know it's not particularly comforting, but at least she already knows. It'd be much worse if she didn't already know."

"No, you're right, that's not particularly reassuring," Jenna snaps, before softening, suddenly overcome with a wave of guilt. "Sorry. This isn't your fault, it's not fair for me to take this out on you..."

"Hey, don't apologise," Matt insists, wrapping his arm around Jenna's shoulder. "It's OK, I understand."

Jenna shakes her head firmly, putting down her mug, leaning on Matt's shoulder. "Sorry," she says again. "Sorry, I just... can you imagine having something like that printed about your mum?" she sighs despairingly. "Especially when you're seven."

Matt is quite for a few moments, playing with her hair. "Jen," he says cautiously at last, almost a little nervously. "You don't think you're getting too involved, do you?"

It's now Jenna's turn to fall silent, deliberating. "Someone's got to care," she says at last. "Her mum clearly doesn't, not all the time, anyway. Someone's got to."

"I know, I know that. But Jen, you don't owe either of them anything," Matt points out. "You're being paid to rehearse a few scenes with Sapphira every week, not to act as childcare. "If the mother asks you to go above and beyond the call of duty don't feel like you have to do it, just tell her no."

"I can't do that," Jenna insists. "You've read that article; can you imagine what that must be like to put up with when you're seven? How can I turn the Mirjam down when she asks me to look after her daughter for an hour after rehearsals when I know full well she's just going to make Sapphi hang around outside by herself until she feels like picking her up, or make her get the tube home by herself?"

"Oh Jenna you haven't," Matt sighs, groaning softly. "You can't let her take advantage of you like that, Jen, she's never going to stop if you just keep saying yes. And what about when all this is over, what happens then? She's not going to be able to get you to look after her daughter when all this is over and we're back in Cardiff, is she? You're not helping, babysitting her child for free, if you want to help her you need to encourage her to take more responsibility.

"It's not that easy, Matt," Jenna sighs, her head in her hands. "It's really not that easy."

"I know, I know that," Matt says sympathetically, squeezing her shoulders reassuringly. "I know. Although... god only knows what Mirjam's social worker's going to make of this... I would have thought she'll put the pressure on for you once she's seen that article."

Matt has completely missed the point, of course. He's assumed that when Jenna says it's not that easy, she's referring to putting her foot down and telling Mirjam Hoxha she can't keep relying on her to look after her daughter for her when she can't be bothered to do it herself and how she would feel guilty saying no.

The reality, of course, is far more complicated than that. It's not that easy to tell Mirjam Hoxha she can't keep looking after Sapphi because in all honesty, Jenna doesn't want to give up the time she spends with her; the time she knows full well she shouldn't be getting to spend with her, not really.

Matt's right; she's in too deep, far too deep.

He just doesn't realise she's in too deep to let Sapphi go.

"She's meant to be doing her read through and starting her choreography tonight," Jenna realises with a groan, closing her eyes in despair. "Sapphi. How on earth am I going to pull her through that? She's going to be all over the place, poor thing, how on earth can I tell her to just forget about it all and get on with learning her lines when she's been worrying about that all day?"

"You don't," Matt tells her. "You don't think of it like that, you think of it as a distraction. You don't give her the option of thinking about anything else during her read through, and when you hand her over to Grace or whoever does her choreography these days, you make sure they work her hard enough that she doesn't have time to stop and think about anything else. That's what you do."

It sounds so simple when Matt puts it like that.

If only it was still that simple when Sapphi is dropped off by Mirjam and another woman Jenna doesn't recognise, a dull, defeated look in her eyes, that passionate, lively sparkle that's been there for the last few weeks well and truly gone.

"Hi," the woman accompanying Mirjam and Sapphi holds out her hand to Jenna, brisk, business-like. "I'm Helen; I'm Mirjam's social worker. You don't mind if we have a quick chat, do you?"

"No, of course not. Sapphi, do you want to go upstairs and start warming up?" Jenna asks, smiling reassuringly. "I'll be up in a minute." It's only after she's seen Sapphi disappear along the corridor, knows she's out of earshot, that Jenna turns back to Helen and Mirjam. She has a horrible feeling she knows roughly where this is going.

"There's been... an article," Helen begins, glancing back towards Mirjam, who, for once, is looking a little sheepish. That's when Jenna realises it must be bad; she doesn't think she's ever seen Mirjam Hoxha look sheepish, not even when she's arrived an hour late in the past to collect Sapphi after a rehearsal. "In the papers this morning, I don't know if you've seen it..."

Jenna just nods mutely, not entirely sure what else to say.

"Right, well as I'm sure you can imagine, there are various steps that need to be taken from this point onwards," Helen explains briskly. "Social services haven't been involved with Sapphira before this, not directly, but before this I was under the impression Mirjam's only source of income was jobseekers' allowance," she explains, glaring slightly at her client (client, is that the right word? Jenna isn't quite sure). "This changes everything. There's going to have to be an investigation, Social Services are going to have to do a home visit, assess the girls, that kind of thing. Given the history."

"Right, OK." Jenna can't say it's something she wasn't expecting. If anything, she's a little relieved; relieved that someone seems to be doing something at last, relieved that she no longer seems to be the only person who gives a damn. "So... so what happens then?" she asks, almost a little nervously. Because the downside of having someone else care, of course, is that Jenna is no longer in control.

It only makes sense, she knows that really. This is Helen's job; she knows the family, she's been involved in Mirjam and Sofia's lives for rather a long time now, Jenna is rapidly getting the impression. Helen is in a far better position to be helping Sapphi than she could ever be. It's good that she's finally getting involved, finally spurring Social Services into action.

Jenna is just worried- selfishly so- about what's going to happen next.

"Like I said, there's going to be a home visit," Helen explains lowly. "Social Services will talk with the girls, away from their mother; it's my job to try and get to the bottom of this newspaper article. My team and I will work with Mirjam and come up with a plan to get her back on track, it's not so much my job to assess whether or not home is the best place for Sapphira and Sienna to be at the moment."

"It's that bad?"

"I never said that," Helen sighs. "Mirjam's capabilities as a mother at this moment in time are going to be questioned, yes; I'm afraid Sofia's history is most likely going to count against her there. Best case scenario, we get Mirjam back into a stable job, she's deemed fit to look after the girls and we continue to support her for the next few months. Worst case scenario, Social Services deems Mirjam unfit to look after the girls and they're removed. Sienna's dad is given full custody, hopefully he agrees to take on Sapphira as his ex-step daughter, and we manage to keep them together."

"And what if he doesn't?"

"Then Sapphira enters the care system. Sorry, that's the reality," Helen remarks; Jenna realises her face must have given away a little more of her horror at that particular statement than she had anticipated. "There isn't another option. We could try and contact the father but he hasn't been involved at all- this is off the record," she says suddenly, lowering her voice. "There are concerns there too; well, you'll know, you've read the article. Nothing's certain at this point, not that I could discuss it with you even if I knew anything definite, I'm afraid."

"No, it's alright," Jenna insists. "I understand. And what about this... Sapphi's taking part in this... what happens if she does end up in the care system?" Is that incredibly selfish of her, worrying that she's potentially going to lose Sapphi prematurely when the poor child is potentially going to be taken into foster care? Almost certainly. God, she needs to get a grip.

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On what her social worker and foster carer decide would be best for her, in that particular situation. Whether taking part would offer her stability or bring about unnecessary distress during a difficult adjustment. I really can't tell you anything else, I'm sorry."

"No, honestly, I understand," Jenna tells her. "Look, I really should be getting back to Sapphi now, but thank you."

"Jenna?"

Helen calls her name just as she turns and begins to walk back in the direction of the dance studio, stops her in her tracks.

"Sapphira..." Helen begins, cautiously, trailing off, contemplating. "Sapphira really needs your support right now, she looks up to you. Possibly more than you know."

It's perfectly clear to Jenna that she's going to have just as much of a fight on her hands to pull Sapphi through this week as she had anticipated right from the moment she steps into the dance studio and finds her pupil/mentee/whatever they've become stretched out across the floor in the splits. She can't see her face- Sapphi's torso is pressed to the floor alongside her front leg, but Jenna can tell merely from the way she holds herself that all this has already begun to take its toll on her, and that goddamned article has been published less than twenty four hours.

Snapping Sapphi out of it for long enough to perform this weekend isn't just going to be difficult.

It's going to be an absolute nightmare.

"Hey." Jenna crouches down on the floor beside her, her tone gentle, rather nervous. She's not entirely sure what the best approach is, making this all up rather as she goes along. "I take it you haven't had a great day."

A slow, unhappy shake of her head, still pressed against the floor, hidden from view.

"Thought not," Jenna whispers. "We all have bad days."

"Not this bad." Sapphi's voice is muffled; Jenna tries to tell herself it's because of her current position.

"Oh I don't know," Jenna tells her, pulling her knees up to her chest, prematurely vulnerable. "Maybe not everyone has to deal with the scrumbag reporters at a shameful newspaper printing an article about their mother, but I promise you Sapphi, you're not the first person to have the kids at school make you feel humiliated and you certainly won't be the last."

"You wouldn't understand," Sapphi insists desperately, still pressed against the floor. "No one would have ever bullied you at school because you're really pretty and your mum and dad sound really nice," she reasons, with all the rationality of a child. "Your mum let me have your old tap shoes and she hasn't even met me, she must be nice."

"Oh if only life was that simple," Jenna sighs. "Trust me, Sapphi, the only people who never get picked on at school are the ones who spend so much of their time picking on everyone else that no one's brave enough to mess with them. And most of the time, they do it to make themselves feel better, because their life isn't perfect either."

A pause.

"Eden Davis's mum and dad did get a divorce," Sapphi ponders, sitting up slowly, pulling her back leg round out of the splits and rubbing at her eyes. "And Eden's dad ran off with another woman and they moved to Spain, and now Eden never sees her dad anymore."

Jenna shuffles closer, wrapping her arm around Sapphi's shoulders. "Is she the girl who upset you at school today?"

"How do you know someone upset me at school?"

"Because I put two and two together, Sapphi, I know you too well. This girl- Eden- did she say something to upset you?"

A slow, vulnerable nod. "Eden told everyone her mum says my mum's a whore because she sexes lots of men for a job."

"Right. And do you know what that means?"

Another nod. Jenna decides she'd rather not confirm Sapphi has the definition right.

"Well, that wasn't nice of her. Did you tell your teacher?"

"No, because Eden's right."

Jenna sighs. "Sapphi, it doesn't matter if she's right or not, what matters is that language is inappropriate and she shouldn't be saying things deliberately to upset you."

"She said her mum says I shouldn't be allowed to be in this competition anymore, because my mum's probably using it as a way of making herself more popular so more people hire her."

Jenna finds herself seriously, seriously hoping Sapphira doesn't fully understand what she's saying. Or Eden Davis, for that matter. She hopes to god Eden is regurgitating something she overheard her mother saying, not something her mother told her.

"Have you told your mum?"

"No. She's stressed enough as it is. Plus she'd tell me to get on with it like she did when Eden told everyone my sister was a thief and deserved to be locked up."

Jenna sighs. There's nothing proactive she can do, she realises that. She can't exactly storm up to Sapphira's school and demand someone deal with Eden Davis and her pathetic cheer squad (because there's always a cheer squad, Jenna knows that only too well), they'd tell her it was none of her business and laugh her out the door.

All she can do is equip her as best she can to deal with the nasty little cow and hope and pray Sapphi follows her advice.

"Sapphi, you're going to meet people like Eden in life," she says softly, pushing all thoughts of Laura Scott as far out of her mind as she possibly can. "You're going to meet a lot more people like Eden, and sometimes, they're going to have a point. But that doesn't give them any right to upset you, and the most important thing is that you can't let them win. You can't let anything they say have any effect on you, you have to stand up to them and be strong and prove to them that nothing they say is ever going to stop you doing anything you want to do. Shall I tell you a secret?" she whispers, voice trembling as she leans in closer. "There was a girl at my school and my dance classes, when I was about seventeen, who was an awful lot like Eden. And I let her beat me. I stopped dancing because I let her upset me, I just stopped turning up one day, never went back. And I've always regretted it. Because it doesn't matter if these people have a point or not, Sapphi, they've got no right to say it, they're only upsetting you because their own life is miserable and trust me, the worst thing you can do it let them win. Never let anyone stop you doing anything you want to do Sapphi, never. Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you?"

A slow, pensive nod. "OK."

"Good girl. And I'm always here, OK? If ever you want to tell me anything, I'll listen."

Sapphi is quiet for a moment, contemplating. "My mum's going to see her lawyer tomorrow," she says. "She says that's someone who deals with complicated shit."

"Sort of," Jenna agrees. "Probably best not to use that last word though, it's rude."

"I know, but that's how my mum explained it," Sapphi argues.

"I Know, just maybe go for 'stuff' in future, OK? Or 'things', that would work too. So are you worried about the lawyer and social services?" Jenna asks carefully.

"No," Sapphi says. She doesn't sound nervous. "Mum just told me to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"That she's going to see her lawyer to talk about complicated shit. That's all." Sapphi frowns, stretching her feet out in front of her, suddenly alert, as though a great weight has been lifted from her. "So what am I dancing to this week?"


End file.
